


Key to the City

by itsamystery



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Cat Burglar, Cop AU, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Theres some violence and such themes later on cause well, adrien is the cat burglar obs, but hes also a good guy and not with the organized crime ring, i realised that maybe some things that happen later might require that rating for good reason, sorry for the rating switching, undercover drug and smuggling and blackmail ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsamystery/pseuds/itsamystery
Summary: "My name is Chat Noir. Infamous cat burglar by night, number 1 fan of blue eyed detectives by day, but a gentleman always." He straightens back to his full height. "And if the Detective may introduce herself so this humble thief may know what to call her by?""I don’t see a point to this, Noir." Marinette narrows her eyes at the man in front of her, lamenting the fact that she never carried a pair of cuffs on her out of uniform."I just wanted to give the Detective a chance to introduce herself to the thief she may or may not catch one day.""I'll introduce myself while I'm reading you your Miranda Rights."





	1. Cyclical

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as an Au my friend Bee and I were working on a while ago and then we left it to gather dust as we both are overworked college students and working on the side as well. But anyway I found half of the first chapter and I wrote 2 chapters in about just as many days cause I finally had a couple low-work days so Here You Go.

     “This is dispatch to any and all detectives in the Montmartre area, we have a report of a recent break-in on 64 Boulevard de Clichy, directly across the street from the establishment Le Chat Noir.”  The staticy words come through Detective Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s radio just moments after she stuffs a fairly large bite of a chocolate muffin into her mouth.

     Marinette can’t help the jolt of excitement that pulses through her as she registers the operator’s words. Le Chat Noir. The odds that the break-in is actually connected to the infamous cat burglar “Chat Noir” are slim, but it’s enough for Marinette.

     Chat Noir had been practically invisible for a little over a month now, committing no new crimes and staying out of view of the police and most citizens, but Marinette has a hunch that the sly thief is the culprit behind this one. This couldn’t be a coincidence. A break-in within sight of Le Chat Noir? That is just Chat’s style: stupidity, an attachment to his alias, and an annoying habit of evading the grasp of the Paris Police.

      Slamming back the kickstand on her Vespa, Marinette snatches the radio and responds, confirming that she will be attending to the scene of the crime and helping the officer on site. With a flick of her fingers she quiets the radio as she pulls on her helmet.

      It’s almost like fate, really. The café where she had stopped for a snack to stay awake during her last hour of her shift was mere minutes away from where the break-in had occurred.

      She keeps a single train of thought as she pulls away from the curb: get to the scene, investigate, and hopefully get out with the information she needs. The cobblestone street rattles her body, but she doesn’t pay attention to the feeling. In her mind she is busy running through the details of the well-used folder tucked away safely in her satchel beside her.

 **First Name:** Unknown

 **Last Name:** Unknown

 **Alias:** Chat Noir

 **Age** : 20 – 25

 **Height** : 1.8 - 1.9 m (6”0 – 6”3 ft.)

 **Weight** : 72.57 - 81.64 kg (160 – 180 lbs)

 **Eye Color:** Unknown

 **Hair Color** : Blonde

 **Race** : Caucasian

 **Appearance** : All sightings have reported a man, as described above, wearing a black full bodied suit and “cat ears”, black boots with steel tips, gloves and a mask with green lenses. Is said to move fluidly -- almost ‘catlike’

 **Identification of Crimes** : Leaves his ‘signature’ at the scene (sample provided with file).

 **Charges** : Theft, Breaking and Entering, Trespassing, Evading Arrest

 **Partners** : No Known Partners

 **Last Known Crime** : Theft at Market on the corner of Rue du Chat-qui-Pêche and 64th

     The case of the ever-evasive Chat Noir had been open for 8 months before it was given to newly appointed Detective Dupain-Cheng by Lieutenant Bustier with the wish of, “good luck, this one’s tricky.” Needless to say, in the four months since then, her focus had become almost obsessive, at least according to her best friend and Paris’ favorite crime reporter, Alya Cesaire.

      Pushing thoughts of her vivacious friend aside, Marinette kills the engine as she pulls up to the scene.  The street is relatively quiet for a Saturday night in the Montmartre. There’s only one other policeman present on the dimly lit sidewalk: Officer Lê Chien Kim. Marinette watches him listen to an old woman, whom Marinette assumes is the victim of the theft, as she gestures frantically while explaining what happened.

      “Don’t worry, Madame,” Kim says as she walks into earshot. “We will do everything we can to find your missing items.” He glances up and relief crosses his face as he makes eye contact with Marinette.

      “Bonsoir, Madame,” Marinette greets the old woman. “I hope Officer Kim has been of assistance. My name is Detective Dupain-Cheng. Do you mind if I have a look around?”

      “Of course, of course,” the woman says, voice shaky. “Take all the time you need. I would like to call my son to see if I can stay with him tonight. If you’ll excuse me.”

      “No worries, Madame,” Marinette says, sending the woman a small smile. “I’ll be quick.”

      “Sapphire necklace. Bedroom,” Kim mutters to her as she walks past.  She nods and enters the stairway to the apartment in question.

      All she was looking for was one sign, then she’d know if this report was going to be hers to file or not. One simple mark and she’d be another step closer to catching Chat Noir.

      Marinette climbs the stairs to the second floor with purpose. The scene is clearly marked with an open door and she enters without hesitation. She beelines her way to the bedroom, but that doesn’t stop her from noticing important details that already clue her into the crime. She doesn’t miss how the front door and its lock were not forced at any time that evening, the windows are all still locked from what she could see, and there are really no signs of someone breaking and entering. Already the scene is looking like one where the stealthy cat burglar was at work.

      The bedroom is small, and Marinette immediately heads towards the closet where the safe would be. As she guessed, the safe door was wide open. Documents are stacked neatly on the safe's shelves, even a pearl necklace and set of gold rings are untouched, but her gaze lands on one particular detail. She didn’t need a light to tell her what it was, but she pulls out her flashlight anyway and tries to keep her breathing normal as she shines the light onto the object.

      Sure enough, her sight didn't fail her. Sitting innocently in the middle of the safe is a small, black paw print on a card of chrome, acid green paper.

      The mark of Chat Noir.

      Marinette grins.

 

* * *

   

      The dark-haired officer exits the building across the street. She's practically glowing in excitement, eyes almost sparkling even in the shadow of dusk, despite the careful poker face she wore trying to hide it. He knows that look all too well. It's the same look he wears when he watches the police doing their damned best to find him. The same look that he has on right now as he watches the dark-haired officer pull out a folder from the satchel on her Vespa (a Vespa. That’s adorable.). There was no doubt in his mind that it was his own case file.

       His own poker face drops as his lips stretch into a mischievous smile.

       He always covers his tracks. He leaves nothing to be traced. The only sign of his presence is his symbol: a black paw print on a card. Always left somewhere for it to be seen. Always left somewhere to be found by this tiny officer who  has been on his tail for months. The thrill of being the hunted was certainly a thrilling feeling that he quickly grew accustomed to…

       But being the hunter was a far more addicting feeling.

       He’s been making her think that she was the hunter, but that was far from the truth. For the past four months he has been playing this game of cat-and-mouse. Oh, how the name Chat Noir fit so well into his role in this game.

       The officer disappears into the building again, pen hanging from her lips as she opens a notebook.

       Pushing off the wall of the building he had been leaning against he adjusts his hood, stuffs his hands into his pockets and walks off. He would be hearing about Miss Officer Dupain soon enough on the news, and he didn’t want to be late for the broadcast and miss his favourite cop.

 

* * *

 

      As she guessed: it didn't take long for the media to come flocking to the scene of the crime, eager to get the latest news on the burglary, but she certainly wasn't expecting this quick of a reaction. How they heard about the theft so soon after she had arrived was beyond her. She hasn't even been at the scene for more than 5 minutes. She had only just stepped foot back into the apartment with her notebook and case file in hand when she hears wheels screech to a stop behind her.

      She hopes Kim could keep them at bay while she documents the crime scene.

      Voices float up to the apartment, but she tunes them out to the sound of her own thoughts. Taking in every detail around her, her pen dances across the paper. It's a mindless activity for her at this point. Four months of studying Chat Noir's style put her into a repetitive cycle of dusting and report filing.

      After snapping a few photos with her camera phone and dusting the points of entry she takes out her evidence bag and grabs and bags the calling card. She knew it wouldn't be of any help though. His calling cards were always free of prints. Free of any clues at all.

      But there was always the hope that he could slip up one day and she would be able to find him.

      Closing her notebook with a clap she glances around the room one last time before turning on her heel and heads down the stairs.

      She was greeted outside with a camera in her face.

      "Detective Dupain-Cheng, BFMTV. Is this theft indeed the handiwork of the cat burglar Chat Noir?" A reporter she didn't know hides behind a microphone.

      How did they know it was Chat Noir's crime? She hadn't even radioed in that information yet. Perhaps Officer Kim already checked out the apartment and saw the card? But wasn't he supposed to run this by her before disclosing case details? Regardless, she had to say something: her confused silence was being broadcast to every TV in Paris.

      Clearing her throat nervously she speaks into the microphone before her. "After thoroughly searching the scene I can confirm that this theft matches the usual for Chat Noir's style. There was no forced entry for either the front door or the windows, and only one item of significant value was taken from the victim's safe leaving all other valuables untouched."

       "And his calling card?"

       "Found in the safe."

       "And how do you expect to catch him before he strikes again?"

      Marinette pauses. Trying to catch him in the act was like trying to catch water with a net. She has no idea how to anticipate where he would strike next. His tendencies have always been to strike places that include the word 'Chat' in it and places nearby. He has a predictable pattern, but there were still so many places that he could strike it was hard to narrow it down. She only had a single answer to give.

       "First, we at the police department need to know where he will strike next. We ask that all citizens set their alarms when they leave their home, and of course, if anyone has any information regarding the cat burglar Chat Noir, that they tell us immediately. Then we could catch this cat red-pawed."

 

* * *

 

 

      "-catch this cat red-pawed."

       "Nino, can you be my best man for our wedding?" Adrien, sprawled across his sofa in a clear picture of leisure, looks over to his friend standing behind the couch with a grin. His friend's face is stoic behind wide glasses as he stares at the flat screen.

       "Adrien, she's a police officer. No wait, she's an investigative police officer. The last person she's going to marry is the guy she's trying to catch." Nino crosses his arms as he shifts his concentrated gaze to the still-masked face looking at him. "She's been close on your tail for months now," Adrien huffs in amusement at the pun Nino didn't intend. "And you're concerned about your wedding?"

       "Come on Nino, don't you think it sounds so Shakespearian? Like something straight out of Romeo and Juliet. A burglar and a cop: a Montague and a Capulet. Two sides of the law, both alike in dignity. In fair Paris, where we lay our scene." Adrien turns his eyes back to the screen. Detective Dupain-Cheng is going on about the description of the missing item.

       "You do know eight people died in that right? The protagonists included."

       "Six people, actually."

       "My point exactly." Adrien sighs, pulling his mask up off his face and tossing it onto the coffee table in front of him. "Also, what happened to you? When she first started investigating you were really pissed. Why are you so… into her now?"

       Adrien pauses, watching the news cut from her back to the reporter. She was many things, in fact. He had thought her to be just another cold cookie-cutter detective that cared only about the job. But she wasn't that. She was always professional yes, but her sympathy caught his eye. She was intriguing, and as she had demonstrated in this interview, fun. He chooses his next words carefully.

      "She's special."

 

* * *

 

 

       She was finally released from the grasp of the reporters and free to move away. With a turn she nearly collides with Officer Kim whom she didn't notice was standing behind her.

      "Jesus, those reporters act fast. I wouldn't doubt that they have police scanners." He muses while he watches the reporters fiddle with their equipment.

      "That was exceptionally fast. Too fast, even." Crossing her arms she too watches the reporters. "It sounded like they were told the crime was Chat Noir's. Did you radio in that this was Noir's crime before I arrived?"

      "I didn't even know it was Noir's crime scene until after you arrived. I was only dispatched to get the info from the owner after she called to report the theft. I hadn't gone in yet knowing you'd be arriving. I thought you had made the call." She turns to look at Kim curiously. His expression mirrors her own. A silent question passes between them: then who called it in?

       Perhaps it was the woman? But who knows if she knew who committed the crime. The chances were higher that she didn't know than that she did. She was standing just outside of the building door, phone clutched in her hands and expression vague. Marinette started towards her. "Madame," The woman looks up at her approach. "Did you manage to get a hold of your son?"

      "Yes, I did. Thank you." She was clearly anxious. Her hands shaking as they clutch the phone like it was her last strand of safety.

      "Don't worry Madame, your item will be found and returned to you as soon as possible. I'll be sure to give it to you myself once it's recovered." She gave the distressed woman her best reassuring smile. This much she could promise. The stolen item and Chat Noir couldn't hide forever.

       "Thank you, detective." The woman offers her a weak smile back.

       "All in a day's work, Madame."

       It doesn't take long for the woman's son to come by and pick up her up. She and Officer Kim leave shortly after to head back to the station and turn in their reports. When they arrive they're relieved to find that the station is mostly empty. The both of them weren't up to the task of recounting the incident to everyone in the building.

       Marinette makes her way to her desk as Kim drifts from her to his own side of the office. She just needs to file the report, make a call, and she would be able to finally head home. She could practically feel her head hit her soft, pink pillows as she slumps into her chair. She keeps the image of her bed in mind as she logs in and begins to type away.

      But she can't dream for long. She has a call to make.

      She dials without even looking at the keypad, tucking the phone under her ear as she keeps her eyes on the screen. It takes two rings for the phone to pick up.

      "I can't believe you cheated on us." Marinette could practically see the offended look through the phone line.

      "Hello to you too, Alya." Marinette laughs into the line.

      "After all this time, after all that we've been through, after all the great crime dates you took us out on and I see you hanging out with another news station. Are our articles too small? Is this your way of saying we should be seeing different reporters?" Her acting is awful, Marinette can barely contain her laughter as she types away.

      "Alya, it's not what you think. I don't even know them, they cornered me."

      "I won't hesitate to file for divorce, bitch."

      "It's true! I don’t even know how they figured out it was Noir's crime. I never radioed in any information about that."

      "Maybe someone else did? Should I do an editorial on how police scanners should be banned in news stations?"

       Marinette pauses in her typing before adjusting the phone. "That would mean you would have to give yours up too, Alya."

       The line is silent for a few moments before a soft curse is uttered through the line. "That's what I thought." Marinette laughs.

      "That's okay. I don't need it." The hesitant statement is so obviously a lie. "I have a detective on the inside giving me all the juicy details I want. I don't need a police scanner."

      "Mmhm. Oh, you reminded me. I'll forward you the info about this theft in a minute."

      "Oh, are you giving me a copy of your report?" Her voice is hopeful.

      "No, just all the information I can legally give unfortunately. I can give you more details once they're looked over by the chief. He'll let me know by tomorrow evening at the latest, he's always doing work. If we meet up tomorrow I can tell you the rest."

      "Sounds great. Meeting at your parent's bakery as usual? Oh crap, hey, I gotta go. If this article is going to hit tomorrow's papers I have to get cracking. Tell me first thing if there's a potential Chat burglar break-in, yeah?"

      "Sure thing, Alya." Marinette sighs as her friend bids her a goodbye before the line drops.

      With a click the report is saved and the pertinent information is sent to her best friend. Leaning back, her hands linked above her head and legs splayed out, she stretches out her tense muscles. It was her day off tomorrow and she couldn't be happier to sleep in after tonight.

      She stands with a huff, gathers up her case file and notebook and shuts her computer down. She had taken only a step away when her desk phone begins to ring. Who could be calling her desk at 9:30 at night? It couldn't possibly be Alya again, she would have called her cell. Perhaps it was the Lieutenant calling to check in. He would have heard about the news by now anyway.

      She picks up the phone on the fourth ring. "Detective Dupain-Cheng's desk."

      A voice she's never heard before comes through the line. "I positively loved your live report earlier, Miss Cop. Mind if I give you some pointers on pun execution?"

      Marinette pauses. She's sure she heard that wrong. She sets the file and notebook down as she sits back down in her seat. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

      "A huge fan of yours." A chuckle comes through the line. "Oh, right. You've never actually heard me before. I should purr-obably introduce myself then, hmm?" He purrs out that word like an actual cat. She doesn't need to hear introductions. Her breathing hitches at the realization of who it is on the other side of the line. "The name is Chat Noir. It's a purr-leasure to talk to you at long last, Miss Officer Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

      The temperature of the building must have dropped 10 degrees; a chill radiated throughout her body. Standing, she glances around the room. Kim was just leaving. She could see the head of an overnight officer in the break room on the far end of the office.

       She sits back down when Chat Noir's voice comes through the line again. "You're paw-fully quiet. Did I surpurr-ise you this much?"

      "How did you get this number?" She whispers into the phone, head down and every nerve in her body hotwired.

      "Oh, it's not hard to find if you know where to look."

      "Tell me how you got this number." She grinds her teeth as she hisses out.

      "My, my, Miss Officer. It's not much of a secret. The Paris Police Department's webpage has your phone number and email address right there under 'Contacts'."

      Oh, right. She feels her cheeks flush in embarrassment at the fact that yes indeed, all of the department's individual members had their contact info displayed for public accessibility.

      "But," The voice continues. "I may forget this number. Mind if you gave me your cell number to call in case I forget?"

      "If you turn yourself in right now maybe I'll consider it."

      "Oh ho ho, you drive a hard bargain Miss Officer. I don't think I'll take you up on that offer right now though, however tempting it is."

      Marinette shifts in her seat, looking at the number on the dial screen of her phone. Whipping out a pen from her drawer she notes the numbers on the screen as she replies. "Actually, you may be taking that offer soon enough."

      She could hear him hum in question. "And why is that?"

      "Because I have access to caller ID databases. I can run this number through the system and get the name you put down for your cell service."

      "Clever idea, but unfortunately I don't think that's going to work Miss Officer. I'm using a public payphone. But it was a valiant effort." Damn. "I'll tell you what though. Can you pull up the station camera feed on your computer?"

      She huffs before pressing her computer's power button. "Yes I- yes I can, just-"

      "Don't worry, take your time to boot your computer up. I'll wait right here." Is she that obvious?

      The start screen flickers, and the login pops up shortly even though it seems like a lifetime while Chat Noir hums a tune through the line. It only takes her a couple extra moments to set up the camera feed after logging in. "Okay, what am I looking at?"

      "The camera looking out at the corner of Rue de connesiere."

      She finds the correct feed and studies it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "What am I looking for?"

      "You'll see."

      Movement. A dark figure shifts on the black and white feed from out of a phone booth. Its arm lifts, hand waving at the camera. "Bonsoir, Miss Officer."

      She was sprinting now, phone still on the line and abandoned at her desk, hands already reaching for her department issued handgun. She dashes through the building, the lobby, and into the street, gun out and ready.

      The phone booth is empty. Twirling on her heels her she scans the area to find no one in sight. Lowering her hands she stares down the empty phone booth in defeat.

     Chat Noir was gone.


	2. Introductions

     She lies awake in bed that night, imagining what she could have done differently to change the past. Of course, there was no changing the past, and imagining the scenarios where she would have been successful in catching the one guy she has been chasing for months wasn't going to help her figure out where to go from here.

     She checks the clock by her bedside for the 20th time that night. The bright, accusing glow of the neon numbers glare back at her, the 3:12 a testament of how she wasn't going to find sleep that night.

     Sighing, she rolls herself over to turn on her bedside lamp and grab her laptop, bringing it to life with the push of a button. If she wasn't going to be able to sleep she may as well get some work done while she has the free time for it.

     The digital case file douses her in blinding white light. For probably the thousandth time she reads through the information, hoping like usual that she finds something she missed even after meticulously searching through all of the data time and time again like an obsession. She has been thorough with her notes of the cases and of each and every detail of what she knows about Chat Noir. She was well aware that everything she knows about the burglar was in the file, but perhaps there was something she forgot she wrote?

     That was her constant fear anyway.

     But no matter how many times she thinks she missed something, how many times she examines the file, she always ends up at a dead end. At least, for the moment. The most recent entry to the file is time stamped at 11 pm earlier that evening. When she had to report the one actual almost-encounter she had with the culprit. When he had contacted her on a public line. When she had failed to catch him despite him standing no more than 20 metres away.

     She would have to formally report the incident first thing to the chief despite it being her day off. That would be the responsible thing to do. Hopefully he would go easy on her not acting fast enough to catch him if she showed that she had done everything that could be done: dusting for prints, saving a copy of the video feed, doing a thorough search of the booth and the surrounding area for a hint or hair of any kind. But like all of his break-ins unfortunately, the scene was spotless.

     She stares at the screen blankly, unsure of what to do. With a sigh she finally caves and closes her laptop and rolls herself out of bed. 3 am wasn't the normal time people went to take walks, but with as much restless energy she had why not enjoy the solace the witching hour offered? Slipping on a pair of shorts and pulling back her hair into a low ponytail she slips out the door. Even while trying to remain as quiet as she could the deafening silence of the world around her made her own actions far too loud.

     It was so much easier to breathe in the night than it was in the day. The air felt less stifled. Cleaner. Either due to the lack of air pollution from passing cars and lack of people or something else entirely accredited to the calmness of the night. It was nice. It almost makes her question why she never requests overnight shifts at the station. Even if Chat Noir's case was her priority, that didn't necessarily mean that she couldn't help out with other cases that may pop up in the night.

     She mindlessly follows the path set before her by the streetlights and cobblestone roads. Emptying her mind of the recent robbery, and of her brush encounter with the cat burglar himself, and the meeting she would inevitably have with the chief. For the moment she allows herself a moment of solace from the sources of her stress to truly focus on the feel of the warm late spring air against her skin and her breath. She could give herself this much.

     When she wakes up she's laying on her sofa, legs hanging over the side and neck stiff. She's still wearing the tennis shoes from her late night rendezvous with restlessness. With a groan she pushes herself up and checks her phone resting on her stomach. It's just after 10 am. Texts from Alya flood her lock screen. Marinette tosses the phone onto the coffee table with a clatter and stumbles to the shower in a tired haze. It isn't until ice cold water pummels her skin that she becomes aware enough of her actions to quickly turn the heat up.

     She doesn't allow herself the pleasure of enjoying the shower to its fullest, instead opting to jump out as soon as possible in order to get ready physically and mentally for the defining moment of her career: getting scolded by the chief himself.

     She can only imagine what he would say regarding her incompetence as a detective and former officer of the law…

     Slinging her bag over her shoulder and clenching her keys in her fist, hard enough to leave marks in her skin from the serrated metal, she locks her door and says a prayer to whoever was listening for the strength to make it through the day with her pride only half broken and career unharmed.

     A quick taxi and a few short stairs leading to the department building feels like a walk on death row, but she's determined to keep her head held high as she steps through the doors.

     "Detective Marinette? What are you doing here? Isn't it your day off?"

     Marinette turns to see Nathanael, the commissioned forensic sketch artist who is in the department enough as it is to be considered working there full time, approach. In his hands was his signature sketchbook and wooden pencil. The stiffness in his shoulders alerted her to the fact that he must have just left an appointment.

     "Ahh, yeah, it is, but I wanted to talk to the chief for a minute."

     "What about? Nothing bad I hope." So he hadn't heard anything yet about the case? Marinette breathes a sigh of relief only to quickly readjust herself to answer casually.

     "No, nothing bad," _I hope_. "Just need to update him with some case information." She tilts her head to signal him that they should keep moving.

     "Ohh, yeah. The Chat Noir case, right? How's that going by the way?" The redhead adjusts himself to walk beside her, his sketchbook still clutched to his chest tightly.

     "Nowhere fast. There's almost no information about the guy, his whereabouts, or where the stolen items end up. If he were to pawn them off, we would have known by this point, but they don't end up back on the grid. They just… disappear."

     "Have you talked to the criminologist?"

     Of course she's talked to the quirky redhead down across the hall from evidence. She's not just a great psychologist but the best person to go to when there's nowhere else to turn. Talking to her always seems to bring things to light that Marinette would never have thought of. She's been a crucial aid for the case as well as Marinette's sanity. "Yes, and she doesn't really have much to go off on either regarding Noir. She believes Noir to be intrinsically motivated to thieve, thriving on the adrenaline or showing off. We know he isn't after the money because the items he's stolen since his appearance haven't been pawned off anywhere within 100 miles, that we're certain of, unless they're being sold out of the country, but only stealing one item from middle class citizens isn't enough to pay the bills when selling across the border. He's bound to have some occupation behind the mask, but what, we have no idea. We don't have any information other than vague physical attributes and the attraction to a cat-theme." Marinette at this point was rambling more to herself than Nathanael. If only she could have gotten more information last night. If only she could have gotten a better look at him. She could then at least have something new to update the case file. But that cat was faster than she. Now she would have to face whatever the chief had to say.

     She was so lost in thought that it wasn't until Nathanael was halfway through his statement that she realised he was saying something. "… well, I hope the chief takes it easy on you, whatever it is you want to talk about." He offers her a sympathetic smile. She gives him a thankful grin and nod in return.

     "Yeah, thanks Nathanael." She leaves him as she continues down the hallway that leads to the Chief's office.

     "If you're free afterwards, would you like to stay and chat for a bit? I can get coffee." She hears him call out behind her. She sighs quietly to herself. She knows of his attraction to her, but she just couldn't think about having a relationship right now. With so much on her plate, she couldn't afford to be distracted by anything else. She felt so bad about it, but she didn't need to get into something she didn't want to be in. But she turns around with a smile nonetheless.

     "I'm sorry, but I'm already having lunch with a friend after this."

     "Oh, okay. Maybe another time then?" He shuffles on his feet as he turns away.

     "Sounds good." With a wave she turns back to the task at hand. The hallway was claustrophobic, the walls too close and too bare. It was intimidating to say the least.

     At the end of the hall were two doors. One of them open, the other closed. Marinette looks into the open doorway. "Deputy Chief Sancoeur?"

     The dark haired deputy looks up from her computer screen, calculating eyes hidden behind the reflection in her glasses. "Detective Dupain-Cheng. The Chief is expecting you." She gestures to the door beside hers. Marinette quickly thanks her before moving over, a chill running down her spine at the word _expecting_.

     She raps her knuckles on the hard wood twice. A voice calls out from inside, telling her to enter. Taking a deep breath, Marinette opens the door.

     Chief Agreste stands in front of the window on the far side of the room. He's facing mostly away from her, standing in a way that his profile is unreadable. "Take a seat."

     She nods, closing the door behind her and walking over to the plush chairs in front of the desk.

     She's hardly ever been in his office in the three years she's worked at the precinct. The desk is inexplicably clean. Almost nothing on it except a computer and keyboard, three pens lined up perfectly to her right, and a single black photo frame on her left. The picture inside she couldn't see. Nothing else in the room suggests anything regarding his personal life. Bookcases filled with thick, legal texts, decorative objects sparsely scattered on the shelves. No pictures or artwork hanging on the walls.

     Either a psychoanalysts field day, or their worst nightmare.

     "I expect this visit is regarding the update you posted in the case file for the Chat Noir case?"

     She nods before realising that he can't see her and is expecting a verbal answer. "Yes, sir. I'm surprised you already read it, given how late it was when I updated it."

     "I get notifications when a case file is updated, I read it over first thing this morning." He turns to look at her with a cold, expressionless gaze. She stiffens in her seat, a cold heat spreading across her body. "I am astonished that he's bold enough to contact one of our detectives on her personal desk phone. That aloofness is going to get him caught." She looks down at her folded hands in her lap. "I'm surprised by how quickly you reacted."

     She looks up to the closeness of his voice. He's standing behind his desk, hands folded behind him. She has to crane her neck he's so tall. He's tall enough when she's standing, but he towers over her while she's sunk into the cushion.

     "I went over the footage you saved and linked from last night. The footage from the camera outside as well as the footage from here in the precinct. Your reaction time was astonishing. You certainly ran out like a bat out of hell." She blinks, alarmed and embarrassed at the fact that the chief of police had witnessed her scrambling to run out of the building last night. "It was a shame that you weren't able to catch him," Marinette closes her eyes and prepares for the worst. "But I cannot criticise your actions after he fled." She looks up curiously at her superior. "You did everything by the book. Everything is thoroughly detailed in the case file, and I witnessed your thoroughness to finding any trace evidence he may have left in that phone booth through the security tapes. I cannot criticise you either for not having recorded your conversation over the phone either. Your personal desk phones aren't currently set up for recording conversations because they are not typically for 'emergency' calls. That is the fault of the department for not foreseeing this, but I doubt Chat Noir will be contacting you again on your personal phone.

     "The transcription of the phone call is not word for word, but I highly doubt that you would have forgotten any hints he may have revealed about his personal life."

     "No, sir, he didn't say anything personal about himself. The call was more to put on a show than anything else, in my opinion of working his case for the past few months."

     "I see." Chief Agreste raises an eyebrow for a split second before he settles into his chair. "Well, Detective, if you were expecting to be taken off the case due to him getting away, you're wrong. You have clearly shown that even with this set back you have followed protocol to a T. Not only that, but you're now the only person who knows his voice. You are the current expert on this case, so I expect nothing less than the dedication you have clearly proven thus far. But I expect to see results. You aren't as experienced as the veteran detectives, but you were a good officer before assuming the role of detective, and your examination scores showed promise. Don't make me regret giving you this case. You are dismissed, Detective Dupain-Cheng."

     She stands quickly with a bounce in her step after having been praised so surprisingly by the Chief. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down." With a quicker salute she turns and flees the cold room.

     Her walk to the bakery couldn't have been any quicker. She opens the door with a chime, the gaze of multiple strangers, two parents, and one best friend meeting hers as the door closes noisily behind her. Her mother gives her a wave and a warm smile as Marinette strides to the back of the bakery where Alya sits with two cups of steaming liquid, giving her mother a silent wave in return.

     "About time you showed up, I was beginning to wonder if maybe you were ditching me for a date with some Z's." Alya picks up her cup of coffee with one hand and takes a sip, her other hand occupied by her favourite black pen.

     Marinette pulls out the chair opposite her friend and falls into the cushion. "Actually, I had to talk to the Chief this morning."

     Alya freezes with the cup still on her lips, eyes blown open at her friend in worry. "Oh no, nothing bad I hope?"

     "Surprisingly, no. He actually praised me for doing my job." _At least, praised by his definition of it._

     "Well I'm glad he's finally seeing how dedicated you are. You _are_ practically married to your job." Her friend settles herself back into the chair.

     "He said something really similar actually. The dedication part."

     "Called it."

     "But," Marinette leans in, Alya taking the hint and leaning in to meet her in the middle. "There's something else."

     A pause filled the air between the two. It only lasted a second before Alya picks up her dropped pen and snatches her notepad from its resting place by her elbow. "Well don't keep me waiting Mari, tell me what happened."

     Marinette repeats the words she typed into the case file, Alya soaking up her story wordlessly while her pen flies across the paper without even a glance. When Marinette concludes the events from last night, Alya is left in her thoughts slouched in the bakery chair. She takes a moment to look over her scrawled, unreadable transcription before looking back up at her friend. "So, you still don't have a clear shot of his face, do you?"

     "No. I didn't even have a clear visual on his outfit. The notes already in the file are still the only thing we can really go by based on appearances."

     "But now you at least have an idea of what his voice sounds like."

     "That's still the only new piece of evidence since a month ago, and there's no way I can get that audio back. I'm the only person who knows what he sounds like and that's not much to go off of."

     "Damn. But hey, maybe walking around Paris you'll hear a blonde guy talk and then you can finally catch him." Alya pushes her empty cup to the centre of the table while she flips through her notes a second time. Marinette is still working on her tea when her friend asks her another question.

     "So what did he sound like, exactly?"

     Marinette sets her cup down and folds her hands over the warm porcelain, her eyebrows knitting in concentration. "I don't know. A guy, I guess. He made cat puns."

     "Girl, wait, he made cat puns? Like, actual honest-to-god cat puns over the phone to the detective working his case?" Alya's face breaks out into a wide, mirthful grin.

     "Yeah. I don't know if I should be impressed or think he's an idiot. They were terrible, by the way."

     "That's hilarious. If I ever meet him I want to shake his hand. Give him an award for having the most courage I've seen in any guy."

     "You think it's funny now, I was terrified this morning that I would be fired because of those dumb puns." Marinette grabs her and Alya's empty cups as she stands from the table.

     "Yes that would be awful, but I have to admit that's the greatest thing I've ever heard." Alya calls to her as Marinette maneuvers behind the counter to join her mother. With a light peck on her mother's cheek in greeting she ducks in back to place the empty cups beside the bakery sink. She couldn't help but crack a smile at Alya's words. She could admit that the whole situation was ridiculous. The puns, the call on her personal phone, the charm and confidence Chat had in his words as he risked being caught as he called her from right outside the department doors.

     Something told her that this case would be the most interesting one of her career.

     Her talk with Alya went on as they usually did on her days off after that. Mostly discussing the little things, lack of love lives due to their commitments to their work, and work place gossip. Marinette brings up Nathanael's offer for coffee, but Alya is right there to reassure her that she shouldn't feel bad for turning him down if a) she was already in a relationship with her job and b) not interested in that kind of thing right now. Her words helped alleviate the discomfort Marinette felt, but it still bugged her.

     It's past 1 when they decide to part ways, both having errands to run before the day ends. Alya leaves first with an encouraging thumbs up. Marinette follows her shortly after, saying goodbye to her parents and promising to give them a call later.

     She leaves the bakery with a jingle and continues on down the street, her mind no longer hung up on the case for once in a long time.

 

* * *

 

     Her errands leave her arms laden with paper bags by 6 o'clock. Food, a new pair of work pants, and a minor indulgence of a few little things to treat herself to that night. Her only issue with everything is how heavy the bags quickly became and how far she still had to walk.

     She curses herself for not having thought to use her vespa today, earlier wanting to take advantage of the beautiful spring day to get some exercise but now regretting her decision to. At least she could skip arm day at the precinct's gym the next time she went.

     The only upside to her struggling to carry the weight of the bags was watching the sky slowly change color. From the light sky blue from earlier to a lighter pastel tinged with oranges and pinks. The few clouds that hung in the sky were stained in a purple that reminded her of the spring flowers that were blooming in planter boxes all around her.

     She crosses the street to the entrance of a gated park. It's always been her favourite place to be during times like this, and also happened to be a convenient shortcut back to her apartment building. The trees around her were blooming in various shades of purple and pink, blue flowers sprouted everywhere they could take root, the noise of the city was almost nonexistent here, and despite the fact the park only took a block of space, the paths and trees around her made it feel more like a forest than a city park.

     As the growing dusk darkened the shadows of the dense trees around her, the lamps flickered to life, showing her the way through the dense growth. A pair of joggers pass her, a man and his dog crossing the path and down another in front of her, and a handful of rabbits scurry away from her approach. She takes a deep breath of the fresh air and sighs, a smile crossing her face. For once, she could feel her tension melt away.

     As she breathes in the smell of blooming things and daydreaming about curling up on the sofa with a glass of wine and Netflix at her fingertips, the last thing she expected is a hand at her mouth and an arm wrapped around her stomach, effectively restraining her as she's pulled up against someone. She screeches, but her voice doesn't carry through the hand over her mouth.

     The person behind her shushes her like they were trying to calm a child. In response she thrashes against the restraint, paper bags dropping from her arms to the cobble path as she frees her arms to claw at the arm around her torso. Fingers grasp at smooth material, her interest in fashion design as a teenager comes rushing back to her as she recognises the fabric as some kind of leather.

     "Calm down, Miss Detective, I just want to talk." She freezes against him. The familiarity of that voice and those words stunning her. She attempts to turn her head to look at him, but her head is held still by the gloved hand of none other than Chat Noir. That much she was certain of. She begins to respond, but is shushed again. "Not yet." With that he begins to drag her backwards into the shadow of the trees. She snaps out of her shock by thrashing harder against him, as well as bringing her foot down on top of his with as much strength as she could muster. Chat didn't flinch. As the shrubbery and shadows hid them from sight of the path she throws her head back as hard as she could. Instead of his nose or mouth, she hits his sternum hard. The rough contact made the back of her head throb with pain, but she grins when she hears a huff from him at the contact. "Me-ouch, Detective. I just wanted to _chat_ for a bit, there's no need to start a cat fight." He lightens the pressure on her mouth enough for her to speak.

     "What the hell do you want to talk about, Chat Noir?" She manages to turn her head enough to get a better look at him. He's tall, she'll give him that. While she was stuck at 5'5", he looked to be pushing 6 foot something. Even while being so close to him she still couldn't see his face clearly, obscured mostly by the awkward position they were in.

     "I just wanted to get to meet the Detective that's been hotter on my tail than any other." She shakes her head, trying to dislodge his hand, before he speaks up again. "I'll let you go so we can talk face to face if you promise to be civil." He tightens his hold on her slightly as she begins to struggle again, emphasizing his point. There was no way she was getting out of this. She wasn't allowed to carry weapons on her person out of uniform, and she didn't normally carry cuffs in her purse either. There was nothing in his file about assault, and she had never thought him capable of it based on his patterns, but she should know by now to never assume the best out of criminals. Regardless of his tendencies, he was much stronger than she was, and in their current position there was just no good way for her to struggle out.

     After an intense internal debate she concedes, relaxing her body to show him she would be civil about this like he asked, against her better judgement. After a moment he releases her, taking a couple steps back into the darkening shadows around them while she takes a deep breath and swivels around to look at him clearly for the first time.

     Her case file witness information was correct about almost everything about him, and then some. He was tall and golden blonde, almost every inch of him covered in a laughingly impractical, tight, black leather catsuit. Boots with silver seams and external steel toes. A belt with a single pocket tied around his waist. Leather cat ears poking out of his messy hair. A golden bell perched at the base of his throat. A black mask covers most of his face, acid green lenses placed in the eye holes. Behind those lenses, eyes full of mirth and mischievousness.

     "Okay. I'm being civil. What do you want, Chat Noir?" She sets her stance in the case she needs to either attack and subdue or run; her weight settling familiarly onto the balls of her feet.

     "Just wanted to see what my favourite detective likes to do on her days off, is all." Compared to her, he is as relaxed as can be. Hand on his cocked hip, the other twirling what looked to be the long end of his belt, head to the side and grinning lopsidedly like he was studying an exhibit at the museum.

     She looks at him curiously, perturbed in every sense of the word. "Have you been… following me?"

     "Only for about an hour," He shrugs, "I was out and about and saw you, and decided that we should probably formally meet at last."

     "And you want me to believe this has nothing to do with the fact that I'm not in uniform today?"

     "That tidbit also helps, yes." He takes a step closer. She tenses but stands her ground. "I don't bite, but I heard you might." He stops and crosses his arms. "I wouldn't want to arrange this little introduction if you had claws."

     While he speaks, she takes this time to study his face while he's closer. There are no significant markings on the skin she can see, so who knows what's underneath the mask. His ears (and thus possible earrings and modifications) are hidden under his mop of hair. The only skin she can really study is the lower half of his face. Smooth skin. He must shave frequently. "How do you know I don't have my gun on me?"

     He gives her a once over, eyebrows raised, taking in her small short sleeve shirt and capris. "I don't know if I should be thinking too hard about where exactly you're keeping it, then."

 _Fair enough._ "Get to the point of this 'meeting' Noir."

     "If you so insist." He falls into a bow, one arm to his chest and the other flourished away from him. "My name is Chat Noir. Infamous cat burglar by night, number 1 fan of blue eyed detectives by day, but a gentleman always." He straightens back to his full height. "And if the Detective may introduce herself so this humble thief may know what to call her by?"

     "I don’t see a point to this, Noir." Marinette narrows her eyes at the man in front of her, lamenting the fact that she never carried a pair of cuffs on her out of uniform.

     "Please, call me Chat."

     "Well, Chat, I don't see any point in me giving out my name if you already know it." She relaxes slightly, listening to her gut feeling that nothing else will come about this interaction other than banter.

     "I just wanted to give the Detective a chance to formally introduce herself to the thief she may or may not catch one day."

     "I'll introduce myself while I'm reading you your Miranda Rights."

     "Then your introduction will have to wait quite a while, unfortunately." He takes a step backwards into the cover of the trees. "I have to take my leave for the evening, but you'll be seeing me around soon enough." He takes another step, seeming to melt into the darkness. "Au revior," He salutes her with two fingers, acid green lenses glowing in the low light and Cheshire grin filling his face. "Princess." With that he manages to completely evaporate into the shadows, glowing eyes and all, leaving her sputtering at the name.

     His sudden departure makes the forest seem too pressuring, like from somewhere in the shadows he was still watching her. Muttering a curse in his general direction, she turns and pushes her way through the brush back to the path.

     Her things were scattered, but untouched, across the path. With a huff she picks them all back up and continues her walk back to her apartment hyperaware of her surroundings. One eye and ear constantly on the alert to everyone around her.

 

* * *

 

     "You did what?!" Nino yells at him from the space between the TV and the sofa where a masked blonde sprawls.

     "I introduced myself." The blonde shrugs, playing with the edges of his mask. "I gave the detective a lead so she doesn't lose interest. And before you say I'm an idiot," Nino closes his mouth. "I already got called that by _that_ friend."

     "And your _special friend_ is right." Adrien had to resist laughing. Plagg was hardly special. He was just guy a decade his senior who taught him the ropes of evading arrest in creative ways, and in the process kicked Adrien's ass. A lot. But the guy endearingly kept tabs on his pupil, occasionally telling him how stupid and reckless he was being.  He was everything a good father wasn't, but a father figure nonetheless for Adrien. "Adrien, you're endangering yourself, and me! I let you crash at my place when you want to as long as you keep your trophies elsewhere, cause you're my bro. You wanted to get back at your dad, sure, yeah, I'm on board cause I hate your dad as much as you do for him being a shitty dad, but you aren't supposed to get caught doing it. " Nino begins to pace at this point, hands gesturing wildly to what he's saying.

 _He's a shitty dad, yeah, but I don't necessarily_ hate _him_. Adrien watches his friend pace a rut into the wood of the living room. "It's okay, Nino. She wasn't in uniform. No gun or cuffs. What could a 5 foot and a half tall detective do other than maybe punch me? I've taken worse."

     "Her particular line of work comes with a diploma in ass kicking. And what about your stunt last night right outside the precinct? If you stayed just a second longer she could have caught you. Or shot you. Either is likely at this point." He gestures wildly enough to knock the headphones off from around his neck and they clatter against the floor. With a sigh he bends down to pick them up and tosses them at an unoccupied couch. "I'm just trying to look out for you, dude. You're my brother, and I'd bail you out of jail if need be, but both of us are in too deep now. If you're caught I don't think there _is_ bail." Nino stops pacing at this point and sits in a chair beside the occupied sofa.

     "I know what I'm doing." Adrien answers lightly, turning to look at his friend. "I think through possibility A to Z of outcomes before doing anything. If it makes you feel any better I can quiet things down for a little bit before trying anything again."

     Nino sighs again, fingers running over his short hair. "Personally, if I were you I'd lay low for about a week. Let the poor woman relax, otherwise you're going to give her either a heart attack or a stress induced ulcer. I can barely deal with you as Adrien, I can only imagine what she's going through dealing with you as Chat Noir."

 _Well, now I just feel bad._ He grins despite this, knowing full well what he'd done.

     "If I ever told myself at 15 that I would be offering a famous supermodel-slash-infamous thief a place to hang because he was my best friend and giving him advice about his interest in the cop trying to catch him, I would laugh and believe I go senile at 23." His friend stands with a grunt, swiping his headphones from the other couch. "And no masks on in the apartment."

     Adrien peels the mask from his face, undoing the glue that keeps it suspended on his skin, and tosses it onto the coffee table. "Yes, mom."

 

* * *

   

     Coming up to her door Marinette fumbles her with her keys and doesn't relax until she hears the lock slide away. Pushing open the door she quickly shuffles into the dark apartment, letting the bags slip from her arms as they may, and slumps against the back of the wood, pushing the door closed once more. With one hand she reaches up and slides home the lock.

     With her bags scattered around her she goes to grab her purse, replacing the keys and searching for her cellphone. Underneath the clutter of emergency sewing supplies, papers, notes, receipts, and chapstick, she finds her phone. Pulling it out, she checks the time as the screen lights up the dark room. 6:32.

     Her conversation with the thief and his appearance still runs through her mind. He was an idiot, but dare she say, an attractive idiot from what she could tell.

     She still couldn’t erase the sensation of either the pressure or feeling of leather on her face. Running a hand over the tingling skin around her mouth she pushes herself up to turn on the lights to the apartment. The yellow light flickers on, illuminating the mess in front of the door. With a sigh she bends down to start picking up the bags when a glimpse of green catches her eye from inside her purse. Reaching in tentatively, she pulls out an acid green card. A black pawprint marking the centre. In the lower left corner, a cat face drawn in pen with ' _Purr-incess_ ' written in graceful cursive beneath it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so here's the jist of what I'm about:  
> I love writing things that you guys love, so, if you as the readers have any ideas/topics/themes/scenes you'd like to see  
> Hit me up.  
> Like, seriously, I wanna write things that a) I enjoy and b) you enjoy so,  
> Any questions/requests are encouraged!


	3. Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Old Western Movie voice* This town ain't big enough for a cat burglar and a detective.

     A week goes by and there's no activity from Chat Noir. Just when she thought she was getting somewhere in the case he decides to hide.

     She's sitting at her desk, head cradled in one hand while the other mindlessly clicks through the pages of a break-in report filed from the previous day. Not that she isn't concerned with the report, she takes her job as a detective very seriously, but she found that if it didn't involve Chat Noir she wasn't interested. That mangy cat burglar managed to take the thrill out of everything else because now her attention is focused solely on him. He made her absorbed into the chase and she hated and loved it.

     Whenever the static of the radio buzzed, she always finds herself zeroing in. Hoping and listening for any report about a theft that fit the style of the blonde, only to find disappointment when none of the described characteristics fit his particular flair.

     While she clicks through the case file in front of her, she finds her mind wandering back to her apartment. There, discarded in the corner of her living room floor, was the offending neon green of _his_ calling card. She had tossed it there after she found it in her purse, leaving it to gather dust on the hardwood, refusing to acknowledge it because doing so would be acknowledging him. Which is exactly what he wants. If he also did that to get under her skin then it worked.

     She wanted to report the incident of their interaction, but several things prevented her from even opening up his casefile. The first was the fact that she would have to face the disappointment of the chief. He put her to the task to catch the thief and put his trust in her to do her job. He may even go so far as to remove her from the case altogether due to her incompetency if she reported an actual encounter with him and ended up doing nothing. She may be selfish for not telling him the truth, but this was her case, and she knew more about Chat than anyone else in the department, and she wasn't willing to give someone else four months' worth of her case work.

     The second thing was something that stayed with her for months. When she was working on sorting a case file during lunch at the bakery with Alya when her friend took her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "What you do during your private life outside of work is up to you. It's okay to do work outside of your shift, but you should know that you owe it to yourself to keep your work and personal life separate. What you do during your private life is up to you, and no one is allowed to hold your work over your head when you deserve time to yourself." The conviction and worry in her friend's words struck her. If Chat decided to interact with her while out of the uniform, then it would stay out of uniform. Besides, she couldn't update the case file with anything they didn't already know about.

     The third thing was that now the case was personal. Chat targeted her and chose to pull her aside while as a civilian. He followed her. He called her to dangle himself just out of her reach. He was toying with her and she is more than willing to take the bait. She had to see this case through to the end, one way or another.

     If she learned one thing about her encounter with him, it's that she now never left the building without a spare set of cuffs tucked into her bag.

     She lifts up her head to another staticky voice through the radio. "Request for an officer to report for a 10-16, 10-20 is 745 Rue de Turin." Marinette drops her head back down into her hand, tuning out the radio chatter in favour of her own internal monologue while reading the case file in front of her.

     With her eyes glued to the screen she would have missed the head of bright red hair approaching her in the peripheral of her vision if it wasn't for the fact that that particular colour was a shining beacon of good will for her. Marinette tears her eyes away to greet Tikki with a smile.

     "You look down, Marinette. Is there anything I should be concerned about?" The short redhead bounces onto her desk, settling in with her legs crossed casually.

     "I don't know, Tikki. What do you think?" Marinette gives her the best teasing, albeit knowing smile she can muster. Tikki scrunches up her face in obvious displeasure.

     "You're asking to be psychoanalyzed by a criminologist? There is _definitely_ something up." She pushes herself off of Marinette's desk and takes her by the hand. "You've stared at this casefile long enough. You're coming with me."

     "Maybe I opened it just before you came?"

     "Your eyes are glazed over, sweetie."

     Marinette laughs, but follows the tiny and insisting woman down the halls and to her office. If Chief Agreste's office was a wasteland, Tikki's is a forest. Potted plants filling almost every corner of the room. Desk covered in paperwork, pictures placed to compliment what empty space there was. Fairy lights lining the ceiling. A plush sofa covered in pillows pushed against the far wall.

     Marinette knew of Tikki's insatiable sweet tooth. On the occasion that Marinette did go to Tikki's office for advice or to talk, the tiny redhead would pull out hidden boxes of cookies from around the room almost like an elaborate magic trick. Marinette always appreciated this attempt at putting humour into the precinct. On more than one occasion she would pull bags of sweets from the oddest places outside of her office, going so far as to pull out a box of 2 dozen cookies from beneath the desk Marinette works at.

     Needless to say, the sweet hoarder went above and beyond her job description.

     Marinette is pushed onto the sofa and swamped in pillows before she can protest. Tikki is already pouring hot water into two mugs by the time Marinette can sit up straight, like getting Marinette into her office was her plan all along. Which, granted, it probably was.

     Two bags of tea are prepped and sugar is dumped into one of the cups, cream into the other. All in all, only about 30 seconds had passed between crossing the threshold and Tikki handing her the latter mug of tea and sitting down in the pleather chair directly across from the couch.

     "Now, are you going to tell me about this boy or should I make assumptions on my own?" Tikki takes an all too perceptive sip on her mostly-sugar-water tea as she watches Marinette's face flash.

     "W-what makes you think that?" Marinette nearly spills her tea with the reflexive jolt after hearing the accusation come from the smirking woman in front of her.

     "Well, for one, your reaction is speaking volumes." She lifts one finger off of her cup while still cradling it in her hands. "Two, I know your distracted-with-a-case look." Another finger rises. "Three, you had the same expression when you came in regarding a certain boy who you know likes you but you felt guilty about turning down for a date." A third finger joins the rest. "I know things are still going great with your family life and your friend Alya, cause you would have told me about it otherwise. Also because I may or may not follow you on social media. So I can only assume it's a boy." Her fingers return to the cup. "So, are you going to tell me about this boy or do I have to start making inferences based on your body and verbal language?" She smiles playfully while she takes another sip.

     Marinette opens and closes her mouth a couple times before she can speak. She should know by now that Tikki can see right through her and should be feared. She takes a breath before she can say anything. "Alright, I won't deny it, but it's not the way you think." Tikki nods skeptically, an eyebrow raised. Marinette couldn't tell Tikki the truth, as she has even yet to put the encounter with Chat into the case file, but she didn't necessarily need to lie. "I ran into this guy I barely know the other day. He wanted to talk. He thinks he's hot shit, that's for sure. I think he has a personal vendetta against me because he knows how I feel about him and that doesn’t stop him. It feels like he's always somewhere just out of my peripherals now, like he's my personal poltergeist."

     Tikki is nodding the whole time Marinette tells her this. Taking small, thoughtful sips of her tea even after Marinette finishes. She sets her mug down into her lap while she thoughtfully stares into the space between them. "And this first encounter with him? How did that go?"

 _He called me and made cat puns._ "I met him at the bakery during my lunch hour. He made dumb jokes, and then he left."

     Tikki takes another sip of her tea. "I suspect you didn't feel like you were in danger, otherwise you would have taken the guy out or whipped out your badge right there and called it in, correct?"

     Marinette could feel the heat of uncertainty burn underneath her skin. "He scared me at first, I wasn't expecting him to pop up next to me so suddenly, but he's no threat. At least, that's not what I got from him." _And there's no evidence he's ever physically hurt anyone,_ "I definitely would have taken him out myself if he was."

     Tikki grins lopsidedly. "It sounds to me like he's trying to impress you."

     Marinette starts, sputtering and glaring at the woman in front of her. "Him? Impressing me? Hardly. He's just trying to get under my skin. He knows I'm a detective. He's just trying to piss me off and it's working." She takes a mad gulp of her tea while glaring at the 'Intimidation' motivational poster hanging on the wall to her left like it was a personal offence. The cat on the poster glaring at her with as much feeling as she was glaring at it.

     "Or maybe he's just trying to get your attention, which seems to be working." Marinette shifts her glare over to the devilish woman. "You have been thinking about him for a while now, right?"

     Marinette huffs. "Yes, but that's exactly what he wants. To get under my skin and irritate me."

     "Some men are dumb. Believe me, I've had my own experience with this. What they think is a good flirting tactic ends up being the wrong approach, and they either realise this and change tactics, or they realise too late. I wonder what this guy will be." Tikki sets her empty mug down on the desk behind her and pulls out, not surprisingly, a half box of cookies from under her chair. Opening the box she wordlessly offers Marinette the option of chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin. Marinette grabs a chocolate chip cookie without pause. "And this is why I like you Marinette." Tikki grabs a chocolate chip cookie as well, "You have good taste."

     "Granted, anyone would choose chocolate chip over oatmeal raisin if given the choice between the two."

     "I'm not talking about the cookie type, sweetie. All cookies are cookies." Tikki endearingly smiles at her, placing the box at her feet. "It's more of the fact that you took a cookie at all without hesitation."

     "Are there people who didn't take a cookie?" Marinette asks, genuinely intrigued by where Tikki is going with this.

     "I've only met two. One of them practically lives here in the precinct," Tikki didn't have to name names for Marinette to know who that was. "And the other," A strange look passes through the redhead's eyes. Almost as if instead of staring off into space, it was more like she was staring through a glass, focused on a single point only she seemed to see. "A very old friend."

     This was the most Tikki had indulged about her past to Marinette, and Marinette was absorbing every moment of it as best as she could. Hoping that this tiny hint of information would lead to unlocking the mystery that was her friend's life before the precinct. Half-seriously, she asks, "A lover, perhaps?"

     Tikki looks up at the detective with an almost sad smile. "Perhaps."

     Marinette suddenly wishes she hadn't said anything to break the spell Tikki put herself under. Tikki, on the other hand, snaps back to her usual self quick enough to give Marinette whiplash. "I should probably let you get back to staring at cases all day, hmm?" Tikki takes the empty mug from Marinette with a grateful thanks and sets it aside before leading Marinette back to her desk. They walk side by side, Tikki's hands clasped together behind her blissfully. "I hope I was able to help you with your boy-issues, at least. Maybe you'll surprise yourself if you confront him about his intentions." She shoots Marinette a wink that was not missed.

     "Tikki, he's only doing this to piss me off. That's all there is to it. Trust me." As they walk up to her desk, Marinette stops dead in her tracks.

     On her desk, hiding her computer screen, is a bouquet of 12 white, orange, and lavender roses. Arranged meticulously in a short crystal vase.

     Tikki turns to her with a sly smile after taking note of the flowers. "Trusting you, then." The redhead slinks away with a skip in her step while Marinette continues to stand dumbly and stare at the roses. With careful steps, as if the roses would disappear like smoke if she were to get too close, she approaches the desk. A tentative hand reaches out to touch one, the petal soft under her fingertips. As soon as she's sure they were really there she begins to examine them more thoroughly. Few thorns remained on the stems of each rose, most of the thorns appearing to have been removed purposefully but still leaving enough to hurt if grabbed recklessly. Leaves were left where they grew. The florists' card neatly placed in the front of the bouquet: _Monceau Fleurs,_ 40 bis rue de bezon.

     As she parts the roses to look through them, an off-green catches her eye. Too bright to be a leaf. Too unnatural to be grown. She reaches in, snagging the unnatural yet familiar green between her fingers, but catching a thorn as well. She pulls out, examining the cut on her finger. A bead of blood welling on her fingertip is the only indication of her injury.

     Looking past the cut, her gaze lands on the neon green card that landed on her desk in her haste to remove her injured finger.

     Chat's card, but instead of a cat face, a place and time in the same neat cursive as the one on her living room floor.

_Rooftop_

_930 pm_

_See you there, purr-incess_

* * *

     Adrien is practically vibrating in anticipation. He had been carefully planning out this night for the past week, and he wasn't willing to mess it up. Of course, he isn't going to tell Nino or Plagg about his intentions, they would just end up yelling at him again and telling him he was making a huge mistake.

     "Adrien, please release some of that tension. You're far too stiff." The photographer complains from behind his camera, bringing Adrien out of his daydreaming.

     "Sorry." With an apology he takes a deep breath and wills the butterflies building up in his chest to dissipate.

     "Much better, now head to the left and watch me, and you're brooding. Make me feel like I just came to the wrong side of town. Perfect." The camera clicks sporadically while Adrien attempts to refocus on the photoshoot. Within a few seconds though he slips back into his thoughts, and he is instead Chat Noir, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the night. The feel of his suit like a second skin, bunching up and stretching as his muscle and sinew do while he runs. He could practically see the tiny detective standing on the rooftop-

     "Adrien, less space and more face." Once again Adrien is pulled out of his reverie by the annoyance of the photographer.

     Giving a model smile, he apologizes again and gets back into position. His daydreaming will have to wait if he wants to stay in the photographer's good graces, but a hint of a smile manages to find its way to his lips despite himself.

     At the end of the photoshoot he's practically sprinting to the changing rooms, leaving a trail of clothing articles behind him in his haste. By the time the door is closed behind him, leaving him to change in peace, he's down to just his boxers. He quickly finds the face wipes and erases the makeup from his face layer by layer. As soon as his skin feels free again he's changing back into his casual white tee and acid washed jeans. He just manages to haul his sweatshirt over his head when the door opens. "Sorry, I already removed the makeup if you wanted to retake anything."

     "I'm not here to have a slumber party, kid."

     Adrien pokes his head out of his sweatshirt to see Plagg leaning against the wall beside his door.

     "Plagg? What are you doing here? How'd you even get in?"

     The black haired man scoffs, dark green eyes narrowing. "Who do you think taught you to get in and out of places, kid? I can get in anywhere I want. But that’s beside the point," He adjusts himself, crossing his arms and propping a leg up, but he doesn't leave the wall. "Is there something going on that I don't know about? You looked like you were on the verge of combusting during your shoot."

     "You sat in on my photoshoot?" Adrien asks humourously, staring at the shorter man questioningly.

     "Just answer the question kid."

     Adrien could never fool Plagg. He turns to the makeup table and clips his watch back on. "I'm meeting someone tonight."

     "Let me take a wild guess. The detective?" He deadpans. Adrien turns to him on his heel.

     "You don't know that."

     "Then look me in the eyes and tell me it's not her." Plagg steps forward now. Despite him being several inches shorter than Adrien, his seniority as his mentor and the intimidating air that was his universal constant made Adrien feel backed into a corner. Adrien looks him in the eyes challengingly, but he can't deny that it was in fact the detective. After allowing several seconds to pass for Adrien to refute Plagg, the dark haired man sighs and plants his palm into his forehead. "Jesus Christ, Adrien. You're going to get yourself caught. Listen, I take my fair share of getting into trouble: going places I shouldn't be and vandalizing and whatever, but I make it a point to never cross a line. Out of all the things I taught you, that never seemed to stick because you made it a point to cross lines to spite your old man."

     "Get to the point, Plagg." Adrien practically growls this through clenched teeth.

     "My point is that I want you to be careful." Plagg takes two cautious steps forward, a tentative hand is placed on Adrien's shoulder. "That you're completely sure you won't be put into a situation I won't be able to get you out of. I'm a shit role model, I know, but I'll do my best to bail you out of tight spots because that's what a mentor does."

     Adrien turns his head, meeting his mentor's worried stare. The blonde takes a moment to relax his tense muscles before replying. With a solemn nod he pats the hand reassuringly. "I promise to be careful. I won't stick around any longer than I should, and if anything happens I'll let you know as soon as possible."

     "That's what I like to hear kid." Plagg reaches up and ruffles the blonde's hair, teasing it out of the combed back style from the photoshoot and into a more messy, Chat-like style. ”Also, I didn’t only sit in on your photo shoot to watch. I came to warn you about something.” He lowers his voice in emphasis of the seriousness of the issue.

     “There are rumours that Hawkmoth is planning something big.” A shiver goes down Adrien’s spine at the mention of the crime lords alias. Every self-respecting individual hiding from the law knew of his name, and widely feared it. Too many people who get involved with him go missing. Too many others are found in the darkest corners of the places everyone else is too afraid to go near for good reason. “I don’t know what it is, but he’s moving with more urgency now than he ever has before. Just be careful out there.” Adrien nods solemnly. With another pat on the shoulder Plagg turns to leave the way he came, hand raising in a nonchalant wave. "I hope you have fun with your detective tonight." He calls back on a lighter note.

     "I'll give you all the juicy details you want tomorrow." Adrien grins as Plagg gives him a disgusted face while opening the door.

     "I'll pass, thanks. I can't stand all that sappy couple stuff. I'd rather stick to cheese."

     "Aww, the old man sour cause he doesn't have a lady friend himself?"

     An emotion flashes across Plagg's face so quickly Adrien barely registers it, but he notices nonetheless. "That's a story for another time. See ya around, kid." With another wave he walks around the corner and he's gone, leaving Adrien alone in his dressing room once again.

     The haunting warning about Hawkmoth’s activity and Plagg’s cryptic expression leaves Adrien with more questions than he ever had, but the answers to those would have to wait for another time. Adrien still had to get home and change to make it in time for the evening rendezvous with Detective Dupain-Cheng. Grabbing his keys and his shoulder bag he hightails it out of the building, slowing only to thank his photographer and dressing crew.

     He jogs up to the Maserati as it flickers to life under his fingers, tossing the bag into the passenger seat as he starts the engine. The car purrs to life under his touch, and he speeds out of the garage with urgency. The drive back to his apartment isn't long. The 10 minutes it usually takes to get to work in the morning is cut down to 6 with his speed. He hastily parks the car at the base of his building. It's crooked in the parking lane, but will only be so for a few short minutes while he slips into his other work suit. He checks his phone as he passes through the front door. 7 pm. He was running late by his standards.

     He doesn't bother with the elevator, instead opting to take the stairs two at a time to the sixth floor. He's winded by the time he makes it there, but it's faster than the elevator anyway. He's opening up the door to his apartment when his phone rings.

     He fishes the phone out of his pocket, expecting Nino or Plagg to be calling and goes to open the phone without thinking, when he notices the name and freezes, finger barely hovering over the answer button.

     Gabriel Agreste's name fills the screen.

     The phone continues to ring while Adrien debates to pick up the phone or not. The detriments of picking up would be listening to his father judge him and being in a sour mood the rest of the evening. The perks would be not having to face him later. Adrien continues to let it ring while he thinks over his options until his phone decides for him. His father goes to voicemail.

     Tossing his phone onto the dining room tabletop with a clatter as he walks by he makes a vow to leave his phone be until he gets back later that evening. He didn't want the risk of his phone ringing during his meeting or his father tracking his ISP if he were to actually go so far to do so.

     Adrien digs around in the bottom of his closet for his hidden suit, finding the leather tucked away in a shoebox. Quickly shedding his everyday outfit he slips into the second skin, quickly getting comfortable in the feel of the suit around him. He tucks the rest of the accessories into a duffel bag and slips into a sweatshirt and white tennis shoes. He can't risk leaving his apartment looking like Chat Noir, so he has to put on the finishing touches in his car.

     With another quick glance at his cell on the table he leaves the apartment.

     The butterflies return with a vengeance as he slips back into his car. With the push of a button his car once again roars to life and he takes off down the street, all other concerns left behind as he focuses on the one thing that has plagued his mind for a week.

 

* * *

 

     She stands in front of the door to the rooftop as stated on Chat’s card. It was easy to get to the flower shop, the address was right there on the business card, but she had no luck with a lead. She called the flower shop just after she sat down at her desk after getting over the shock of the bouquet. The delivery request was made via a written note and cash found slipped under the door before they opened that afternoon. Just an address for delivery and a last name for the order: monsieur Noir. Following the only lead she has, she drove to the shop and meandered her way around the area until she found the way up to the roof of the building immediately behind the shop. Thankfully, she overheard Kim complaining earlier about having to work instead of going on a date tonight, so she offered to cover his evening patrol shift. He thanked her profusely, and she buried the guilt of not actually covering for him for having an alibi as to why she was working so late.

     She reaches for the door handle, but stops short, the energy building up in her chest freezing her in place. Maybe she should have called for backup. That would have been the a) responsible and b) smart thing to do. Was she blinded by her own sense of pride and desire to do this on her own? Quite possibly. But it was too late to back out now, she was here, and she could only begin to imagine how to explain the situation.

     Instead, Marinette takes a moment to double check herself. Her chain cuffs tucked in her back pocket with the key in her front. Radio, pepper spray, stiff cuffs, flashlight, and a taser all clipped to her belt. She takes her gun from the holster at her hip and tests the weight in her hand. It’s been a while since she last took it out, but the weight of the handgun is familiar. She considers the safety, but decides not to turn it off, favouring the route of intimidation instead. She grabs one last look at her watch; 910 pm. She's early, but she opens the door anyway.

     The night is quiet around her save for the faint sounds of passing cars seven stories below. She swivels on her heels to survey the roof. It’s filled with metal pipes and electrical boxes: plenty of places for someone to hide.

     She takes careful, cautious steps while wandering the rooftop, hypervigilant of the dark, not knowing where the cat would pop up next, handgun held with both hands securely front of her.

     She looks around the corner of an electrical box when she hears an increasingly familiar voice.

     “Looks like I wasn't the only eager one.” She jumps around, gun pointed, facing a lounging Chat Noir. He’s perched on the top of a metal pipe, hands between his crossed legs, glowing eyes watching her intently.

     “Chat Noir, put your hands where I can see them.” She demands, holding her gun at the ready.

     "Easy there, Miss Detective. I come in peace, you can sheath your claws. I just wanted to talk some more. Did you like my gift?" He grins, but he holds up both hands anyway.

     "Come down on the ground." She gestures to the gravel immediately in front of her, pointedly refusing to answer his question, but he doesn't budge.

     "Well that's not very fair that I follow your order but you don't answer a simple question." He pouts exaggeratedly, and she swears she can even see his leather cat ears droop.

     "You should have thought about being fair before becoming a criminal, Noir." She retorts, taking one daring step closer.

     He's silent for a moment, regarding her while he's safely just out of her reach. "How about a game, then?" He shifts, legs dangling off the pipe. "You make a request, and in return you answer a question."

     He still has his hands in the air. He didn't seem to be itching to run away any time soon, and willing to be compliant as long as she was willing to play along. She quickly weighs the benefits of catching him quietly with his suggestion.

     "Alright, Noir. What's your question?" His eyes flicker with mirth with her confirmation.

     "How did you know to come here on this rooftop if I never specified a rooftop?"

 _Easy_. "You couldn't have possibly meant the department's rooftop, that would be far too easy for me and too close to danger even for you. So I used the only other clue you gave me: the flower shop's card. The flower shop roof itself is far too low to the ground, it would attract you too much attention. I figured you'd want to go the more discrete route: the roof behind the shop instead. Now get off the pipe, slowly."

     "Right away, princess." He slides off the pipe with his hands still up, landing on his feet quieter than what she expected from him. "Now my turn. Why did you want to be a detective, detective?"

     She narrows her eyes in confusion, her gun lowering slightly. "Why do you want to know something like that?"

     "Humour me." He grins while shrugging.

     "I didn't always want to be a detective, but things happen and plans change. I used to want to run away from the bad things, but soon I became tired of running away and decided to stand up for once. I became a detective because I want to stand up and help others and inspire change. Become someone others can look up to."

     He nods. "My princess has a very kind heart. I know of a few people who use their power for completely selfish reasons, but you… you are very admirable. One of the reasons you intrigue me."

     "Why do you keep calling me 'princess', Noir?" She doesn't realise it, but her gun is long forgotten in her hands. She's too curious now regarding the mystery that he is. He smirks, hands going to rest behind his head casually.

     "Because you're the princess trapped in her tower of iron, surrounded by fearsome dragons. If dragons had guns and tasers, that is." He chuckles to himself. Marinette just rolls her eyes and smiles despite herself at the attempt at humour.

     "My turn, then." He takes a step closer, hands still poised behind his head. “Did you figure out the meaning to the roses I sent you?”

     Marinette blinks and cocks her head pointedly, “Meaning?” Didn’t he just send those to piss her off?

     He almost looks dejected with her answer. “You didn’t know that roses have intentions?” He sighs, “Would you like to know the intention behind them, then?”

     She thinks about this proposition. On one hand she knows he’s stalling, but on the other she’s genuinely curious about what he’s talking about, and he was following her demands without resistance so far. Where was the harm in indulging in the questions that were now running about rampant in her head? “Enlighten me, then.”

     He grins a Cheshire grin. “The white represents pure intentions, honesty, and innocence of the heart.” He cocks his hip, his ‘tail’ swaying with the motion. “The orange stands for fascination and desire, and the eagerness of which I want to know more about you." He tilts his head. "And the lavender for how my princess has enchanted me so. The thorns are still there, because my intentions weren't immediate upon learning about you." He moves his hands from behind in favour of holding them beside his head instead. "I'll admit, it took me a while to warm up to you. I don't particularly care for cops, but you're an exception, against my better judgement."

 _Going against judgement is something we both have in common lately._ Marinette thinks to herself before she reaches for her cuffs. He clearly sees this, his eyes immediately flickering to her hands, but he looks less than nervous. In fact, he looks excited. This unnerves her.

     “Keep your hands up and turn around, Chat Noir.”

     He laughs, but turns around. She brings out her cuffs, them clinking in her hands, and quickly sheaths her gun as she walks up behind him without hesitation. He’s uncharacteristically silent as her shoes crunch on the gravel getting closer and closer. She’s only steps away when he turns his head, a grin plastered on his face, and her confidence wavers.

     “Simon didn’t say ‘stay’.” She doesn’t have the time to lunge at him, he’s already sprinting across the gravel of the roof.

     “Hey, freeze!” She calls out after him, grabbing her gun again, the cuffs dangling from two fingers noisily. She can barely keep up with his shadow as he leaps and dodges through the maze that is the roof. She manages to stay on his heels until he ducks behind a larger air conditioning unit. She speeds around the corner, expecting him, but he’s gone. He got away.

     She growls in defeat, lowering her hands and kicking the ground for good measure. She should have known better than to trust he would follow her orders complacently. She sheaths her gun once again, making sure the safety is still on and secured in the holster. She’s folding up the cuffs when she hears the crunch of gravel beneath feet. She doesn’t even have time to react and turn around, there are hands already at her arms and yanking them behind her. Her shoulders protest the angle and ultimately force her to lean forward to prevent either of her shoulders from dislocating. She hears a gut-wrenching click as she feels cold metal wrap around her wrists, effectively handicapping her with her own cuffs.

     “Sorry, Detective, but I still wanted to discuss something with you. I'll make it quick, I swear.” His voice is right beside her ear and body flush against her back. The familiarity of the situation rushes back at her, reminding her of their meeting a week ago.

     “What else do you want to talk about, Noir?” She hisses through clenched teeth, pulling at the metal around her wrists with a growl. She attempts to move away, but he's holding tight to her.

     "There's something you need to know. Have you ever heard of a man that goes by Hawkmoth?" The name did ring a bell, yes. She's heard the name before at the department, but no actual leads have been made regarding the man. Only rumours spread amongst the suspects involved in petty crimes that are brought in for questioning. As far as the department knows, he's a dead end and a myth.

     "Isn't he just a myth made by you criminals to spread fear?" Marinette looks over her shoulder to look Chat in the eye. She balks at the intense, fearful look in his eyes. She realises in that moment that the myth isn't just a myth after all.

     "There are missing persons cases spanning decades in this city, princess. No one is ever found. Alive, that is. But none of them were missing with intention. No ransom. No notes left behind. Even a handful of deaths have been closed as suicides, regardless of unusual circumstances." He speaks as if he's been searching through the records room himself. The question of if he really has sits in the back of her mind as she focuses on what he's saying. "Look into it to see for yourself, but don't go after any leads, no matter what. There are rumours going around that he's getting ready for something. Something big, so be cautious and careful."

     "Why are you telling me this?" She watches his lips stretch into smile far more gentle than she would have thought for him.

     "Because I couldn't stand to see my princess get hurt."

     She scoffs. "I can protect myself just fine, thanks." She can feel his chest bounce with laughter. She tenses and glares at him. "What, you think you're my knight in shining armour or something?"

     Chat hums, replying playfully, "I'm pretty sure it's 'knight in shining leather' in this case."

     She rolls her eyes and turns her head away from him while her mouth betrays her with an exasperated smile, praying he doesn't notice this. He does, much to her annoyance. She has never wanted to punch someone as badly as she did in that moment.

     "Thanks for the warning, but this is the part where you let me go so I can arrest you." She speaks more to the ground than to him.

     "You're not going to let me off with just a warning for giving you insider's advice about the biggest crime lord in Paris? Me-ouch." Despite his words, she can feel him loosening his hold. "Unfortunately, you won't be _cat_ ching me tonight while you're caught in your own cuffs, Miss Detective, but I do think I can give you a parting gift before I leave." He releases her, and she steps away and straightens back to her full height before turning to face the smug-looking thief.

     "Don't think you can- mmph!" His hands cradle her jaw and hold it still while he silences her with a kiss. She's stunned for a moment, trying to process the situation, but she snaps out of it just as quickly, trying to pull her head away from his. His hands hold her steadfast however, his eyes never once wavering from hers, narrowed and mischievous like he's challenging her. Something hard clinks against her teeth, and her teeth open just enough to hold the metal object. She's not too sure what it is, but she pushes it to the inside of her cheek hastily as she harshly bites Chat's lower lip as he retreats, her skin tingling as his touch leaves. She can taste his blood as he pulls her away with a flinch, and smirks at the sight of it on his lips. _Serves him right._

 

     His response is to lick his injured lip in surprise. "Looks like you do bite after all."

     "I'm adding sexual harassment to your list of charges." She tongues the stick of metal in her mouth, trying desperately to determine what it is by touch alone.

     "For returning to you your cuff key?" She stops fiddling with the key. "I'd find it very difficult to have gotten it out of your front pocket in your particular predicament." He begins to walk backwards slowly, receding once again into the shadows.

     "I would have managed."

     He hums in doubt. "Even if you eventually did, it's easier as it is now, right?" There's that Cheshire grin again. Her skin heats and itches with what she could only assume was irritation and embarrassment at herself.

     "I'm going to arrest you as soon as I'm out of these cuffs." She glowers at his dissipating form.

     All she sees now are the glowing acid green lenses of his mask in the dark. "I look forward to it." He purrs this as he ducks behind one of the many AC units, and is gone.

     It doesn't register in her mind until he's gone that the tingling sensation that has yet to leave the skin of her jaw and neck was because of the blood rushing underneath the surface, temporarily marring her with scratch marks left by the steel claws on his gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying again that if you have any requests/ideas/things you'd like to see in this fic just let me know! ^^


	4. Agenda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update guys, I've been writing and re writing this chapter cause I'm never happy with it, but I think this is the best it's gonna be for this chapter. Don't worry, next chapter is going to make up for the lack of interaction ;)

     The next day at work couldn't have been worse.

     She arrives with the weight of shame heavy in her chest and the feeling of being eaten alive by the guilt of many things and annoyance at _him_ and herself. Kim thanks her again for taking over his shift, which tightens the noose already around her neck. She opens the Chat Noir case file and her annoyance flairs. Her mood is so tangible to the office that Tikki quickly slips Marinette a small box of cookies in wordless condolence, offering her a _hang-in-there_ smile. Although her mood improves throughout the day, her mind is running a mile a minute since opening up Noir's file and the conversation from the previous night rushes at her all at once like falling headfirst into something that runs much deeper than she thought.

     She spends the first several hours of her morning getting all of her increasing paperwork done while thinking of an excuse to get into records and evidence. She's just finishing up a file when the sound of her name alerts her to someone standing beside her. Deputy Chief Natalie is watching her, emotionless behind dark rimmed glasses.

     “Chief Agreste wishes to see you.”

     A cold sweat breaks across the back of Marinette’s neck, but she refuses to show the panic in her eyes. Natalie was almost as perceptive as Tikki, and thus dangerous. She replies as calmly as she can. ”Of course. Did he say what about?”

     Natalie shakes her head. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

     Marinette nods slowly. “Alright.” She stands and follows the deputy chief in solemn silence through the precinct. Marinette was still nervous about talking to the chief, but something in her gut told her that there was no need to worry.

     Natalie leaves her in the space between her office and Chief Agreste's, opting to get back to work at her desk rather than wait. Marinette takes this as a confirmation to knock on the Chief's door. She approaches the door, hand raised, when she hears his voice. Curious, she takes a step forward and places her ear against the wood. His voice is muffled, but she can tell that he's in the middle of a conversation on the phone. She can only catch a handful of words:

     “…training this summer… you here… looks only last… making a mistake… Adrien!” His sudden shout causes her to flinch. Her mind reels with possibility of who might be receiving the chief’s wrath on the other end of the line.

     The chief was always a very private man, but the one thing that everyone at the precinct knew about him is that he lost his wife many years ago. Tikki has been able to indulge Marinette in some information she remembered when she herself was a new recruit. She remembered his wife and child, who came into the department with goodies and gifts whenever they did. Chief Agreste was a senior detective at the time. His wife was lovely, with golden hair and grass green eyes. She seemed to bring light with her wherever she went. Their son, whose name escapes her, only came in a handful of times throughout the years, but he was almost a copy of his mother. His childish smile and laughter filling any room with warmth. Tikki said that, believe it or not, the Chief would even smile during those days. 

     And then it happened. One day Chief Agreste doesn’t come in to work. And the next day he was gone as well. He was missing for over a week until he finally showed up. When he did, he had changed. He was cold. Distant. He didn’t make any excuse for his absence. It took weeks for the department to figure out his wife went missing, and he had spent many sleepless nights exhausting his resources to try and find her, and ended up having to fall back onto the department when he was getting nowhere. Since then there's been no word on her case, but Tikki confided in Marinette to tell her that he was still looking for her to this day, using his position as Chief to get any information regarding his wife.

     She could only imagine who this Adrien was, but by the way the chief sounded over the phone, she could only take a wild guess and believe it to be his son.

     Taking a breath she knocks on the door, hoping that she gave the chief enough time to collect himself from what sounded like an aggravating phone call. He grants her permission to enter, and she cautiously opens the door.

     Chief Agreste is sitting in his chair, the photograph that she last saw on his desk is now in his hands. He looks up from the photo and places it quickly back in its spot on the desk before waving her into a seat. She quickly crosses the room to sit, hands folded in her lap, spine straight and tense. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

     "Yes," She doesn't miss how he has to force his now steely eyes away from the photograph staring back at him. "I wanted to hear how the Chat Noir case was going. You haven't updated the file since his phone call, I would have expected him to have made a move sooner after such a development."

     The nervous sweat at the back of her neck freezes instantly despite the heat of the room, sending uncomfortable chills down her body. She has to stifle the shudder while desperately trying to focus on keeping her breathing even. If only the chief knew of what transpired the previous night and the night after the phone call. So she did the one thing that no one could have expected, not even herself; she lied.

     "There haven't been any updates regarding his movement. I've been listening to the radio chatter consistently, and none of the thefts reported since the phone call match his style, and none of them have his signature from what I've seen or been told. He must be keeping a low profile after having threatened himself in such a way." _Low profile my butt, he's been dangling himself in front of me like bait._ She thinks to herself bitterly.

     "I see." Chief Agreste lowers his eyes back to the photo. "He'll be back sooner or later. Be prepared for when that happens. You're dismissed."

     She stands and salutes before exiting the office. Once free of the stifling room she releases the breath she hadn't known she was holding. She can still feel the chill from the fear of lying to the chief's face coursing through her body.

     She arrives back at her desk with her limbs stiff from the tension. Her eyes must have been alarmingly wide because Max, the analyst who sits two desks away, comments on her appearance. She waves it off, telling him she was just spacing as usual, and he doesn’t comment on it further.

     She sits down heavily with a sigh, head craned back to look at the ceiling. The noose around her neck from that morning reappears with a warning pull, reminding her of the consequences of her sins after swearing the oath that every officer must make, and she’s betraying that oath for the sake of her pride. She looks back at her computer screen, Noir’s case file is open and begging.

     The noose tightens.

     That’s when she notices the red flashing light of her desk phone telling her she had a voicemail. She must have received a call while she was talking to the chief. She picks up the phone and places it to her ear while she presses the playback, closing her eyes to listen.

     “Hello, Princess.” Her eyes fly open, the tension in her neck spiking. “I know I saw you last night, but I was curious to see where you were on your history homework. Maybe you’re not answering because you’re doing it right now?” She can practically hear his grin through the recording. “I also wanted to leave an anonymous tip. There is a bag of interest in the passage moliere. Just thought you would apurr-eciate the info. Ciao.” He cuts out to be replaced with the answering machine’s voice, asking her if she wishes to replay the message or delete it. She hesitates, before replaying the message and writing down the location specified, then hangs up the phone, leaving the voicemail in the inbox.

     She picks up her jacket and Vespa keys and heads out. She tells the receptionist that she’s making a quick errand and that she’ll be back soon. With that she exits and searches the location on her phone. It isn’t far, maybe a two minute drive. She kicks back the kickstand and revs the small bike harshly.

     It’s easy to find. The passage is more of a tunnel between two buildings just off a side road. She parks her Vespa and leans it against the building, scanning the area under a scrutinizing gaze. There’s not much to see: just a dark passage with a handful of bikes and a couple of wooden pallets leaning against the wall.

     She takes a few careful steps in, a hand already unbuckling the handgun from its holster at her hip. There's nothing else too interesting to observe other than a handful of newspapers blowing past in the same wind throwing stray hairs into her face.

     There is, however, a brown paper bag tucked behind a pallet with her name written on it. Literally. ‘Miss Detective’ is scrawled across the front in the same neat cursive that has been haunting her for the past week. She knows this bag, however suspicious, isn’t a threat solely because she knew it was from him, so she throws years of suspicious package protocol out the window to pick up the bag. It’s heavy, and something distinctly metal shifts under the momentum. With a shake, the whole bag sounds like a bag full of change. Even more curious than before, she opens the bag. Inside is another rolled up paper bag, so she pulls that one out and opens it. Inside that one is an assortment of jewelry. Gold bracelets, necklaces with gem pendants, an ostentatiously heavy-looking necklace of rubies, and a silver necklace with a single, large sapphire hanging from it.

     She recognized all of the items in her hands based on their descriptions alone: these were the missing items from past Chat Noir crimes. She and Tikki were right: he wasn't selling them. He had been keeping them as trophies. Prizes for his uncanny (and annoying) ability to be able to sneak out of any situation without consequence.

     But why would he give them up to her now of all times?

     This was a sign to the detective, and something that she would have to discuss with Tikki later; his pattern has changed.

 

* * *

 

     "So, should I take this as a sign that you're going through the rehab equivalent for burglars?" Nino sat at the counter with his laptop, going through the song lineup for his DJ gig that night. "Because I've known you for what, 8 years now? And I still have no idea what you're doing."

     Adrien is standing in the small kitchen's doorway with his arms crossed, eyes looking anywhere but his friend. "Honestly, I don't know why I did it either. It was just an impulsive thought: 'hey, you know what would make things interesting? If you gave her all the shit you've stolen.'" Adrien shifts, leaning against the other side of the doorway in an attempt to make the strange feeling in his gut disappear by trying to get in a more comfortable position.

     Nino turns his head to look at him, amber eyes scrutinizing behind wide-brimmed glasses. Adrien can feel the weight of his best friend's stare on him. After a moment, Nino sighs and saves the audio he's working on and partially closes his laptop. "Alright buddy, I'm no psychologist, but I learned enough in high school psychology and online that I'm practically a pro amongst unlicensed amateurs. So tell me; how does it feel when you, you know… burgle stuff?"

     Adrien rolls his eyes and smiles, but answers anyway with a shrug. "The high of adrenaline. Like I could get away with anything. The satisfaction of doing exactly the opposite of what my dad wants me to do. The opportunity to chase after my detective and have her chase after me."

     "Alright, I knew that already, but continuing on; how did it feel to return the items you stole to her?"

     Adrien has to pause and think for a second. He honestly doesn't know. At least, he doesn't know how to describe it. He feels jittery, like butterflies filled every inch of his body and moved all at once as a single mass that makes him feel weightless and tingly. He feels the same way giving her the jewelry as when he gave Nino a new laptop as a surprise when his last broke in an accident involving a dancer’s alcohol at a club gig he was working. It was elation and camaraderie and affection. He can feel the emotion coursing through his body, but there were no words he knew at that moment that could describe this feeling. He has to settle for second best: "Good."

     Nino raises an eyebrow. "Good? That's all you can come up with? You hand her the results of years of training and weeks of planning and scouting and almost getting caught several times and risking the rest of your life in jail for a 'good' feeling?"

     "Yes? No. I don't know." Adrien slides down the doorway to sit on the floor instead. "It felt right. Like I was meant to do it.” He holds his head in his hands. “I can’t describe it.”

     "Jeez, you really have no idea, do you?" Nino laughs, and Adrien looks up at his friend in alarm. At his vacant look, Nino shakes his head and explains. "You missed such a good opportunity there, and you call yourself a pun master. Granted, you aren't 'Chat' right now so I don't know if it counts." He laughs again. All Adrien can do is watch his friend, completely lost. After another moment, Nino explains further. "This is the perfect example of the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back'."

     Adrien goes red, stunned, and is unable to form a response to this enlightenment.

     Of course. How could he not have thought of it. He's been living vicariously through the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat' when it came to the detective, but he never considered the often-forgotten other half of the phrase.

     Adrien becomes acutely aware that this is the only way to put his indescribable feeling: satisfaction. He's reduced to the same laughter that is taking over Nino in that moment, both men laughing at the absurd and comical situation. It's a whole hearted moment between them, and they both find themselves in the recognition that they haven't had this kind of moment in a long, long time.

     Once tears start prickling the corners of their eyes they quiet down, their chests spasming as the laughter subsides. Nino speaks before their breath has managed to completely return to them. "But hey, I’m proud of you for finally breaking bad habits.”

     "You make it sound like I'm breaking a drug habit." Adrien smiles heartily, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Nino that he won't give up thieving. At least, not yet.

     "As far as I'm concerned, Chat Noir _is_ a drug." Nino gives a playful-yet-serious smile back while turning back to his laptop.

     In the following silence, Adrien stands up and tells Nino he’s going to take a nap before he has to leave for work in a few hours. With a comment from Nino about how he should be paying rent to earn the right to sleep at his place, Adrien collapses on the sofa. He winces, then sticks his hand in his pocket to remove his personal cell and his newly acquired burn phone. He looks between his cell and the burn phone for a moment before tossing both onto the coffee table. The memory of his conversation with his father was still fresh in his mind, weighing as heavily on him as the call to the detective was. He wanted to call her again. He was eager to know what she thought of his gift, and if she’s taken his advice about the research to heart. But he figured he would give her some time to settle and process his change in behaviour before he gives her a stress induced heart attack.

     At least, for now. He may be a gentleman, but he was also stubborn and relentless. He wanted to remind her that he was still there, that he wasn't giving in just yet. He wanted her to know that she should chase him, because he would continue to pursue her. That the cat she paid attention to once would follow close on her heels for as long as their paths crossed.

     He would give her 24 hours. He could do that much at least, despite his impatience.

 

* * *

 

     In all of her time serving as an officer and now as a detective, nothing could have prepared her for the flood of work cut out for her.

     She had brought back the bag of stolen jewelry to the precinct and ended up in Chief Agreste's office for the second time that day (a new record) much to everyone's surprise. The next several hours, including her lunch break, are spent fuming the valuables in cyanoacrylate and pouring over them with a light only to find that there's no trace of a fingerprint of any kind on any of the items. He had clearly cleaned them before putting them in the bag, and he cleaned them well. By the time she's done with all of her paperwork and calling the owners that their missing items turned up and will be returned within the week she's close to falling asleep at her desk, and it's not even 3. She still has to talk to Tikki. So with a huff she pushes herself away from the desk to stand before the phone catches her eye. She almost forgot that Chat's message is still sitting in her voicemail inbox.

     She picks up the phone and dials her inbox. It's the first message. His voice starts out again and repeats his message. It's surreal to think he called her that morning; it feels more like days than hours. She waits patiently for the end of the message while she focuses all her attention on his voice. It's not unpleasant to listen to. In fact, it's almost soothing. It shouldn't be as calming as it is when he is the root of all stress in her life at the current moment. She's jolted out of a trance when the synthetic voice of the phone starts, asking her once again if she'd like to repeat the message or delete it.

     The chief still doesn't know Chat called her again. When asked how she came across the bag, she responded confidently that an anonymous tip informed her that they found the suspicious bag in an alley. She had left the bag with her title scrawled across it at the scene more out of forgetfulness than intention, but she was glad that she left it: it was one less thing to explain when she dropped the bag on the chief's desk.

     She doesn't think too much about how easy it was for her to lie to the chief, but with this sudden development with Chat, she was more conflicted than she was with her previous feelings towards him. She wants to assume the best in him. That maybe he can either quietly put an end to his thievery, slipping off to live a normal civilian life, and they wouldn’t have to worry about him ever again, or do the right thing and turn himself in voluntarily. With his gift of stolen jewelry it's clear to her that he doesn't thieve for financial gain, and he was more than willing to give her information that she wouldn't have known about otherwise. He's elusive, but who wouldn't be when knowing that they were a wanted criminal.

     She deletes the message from her inbox after a moment's hesitation, erasing all evidence of him having contacted her.

     With that, she stands and heads down the hall, making her way to records, but quickly stops by Tikki's office. The door is open, but Tikki is nowhere to be seen. Marinette enters anyway, heading to the desk to pick up a sticky note and a pen. She quickly jots down a note for Tikki to contact her when she can and leaves, the note placed obviously on the desk.

     The records room is on the lowest floor of the precinct. Marinette has to walk across the lobby to the stairs, passing by the receptionist with a greeting. The stair well is well lit, but that doesn't help the confining and stale air that marks the basement level.

     Other than the records room, there's nothing else in the basement besides evidence, a couple of storage rooms, and mechanical. No one really sticks around down in the basement besides the Quartermaster, and even then he's usually asleep if someone is quiet enough. She barely makes a sound as she walks past his station but he's awake anyway, a newspaper laid out on the desk in front of him. He looks up at her approach and gives her a nod of acknowledgement. She nods in return and continues past to the door to records, and when she opens it she's greeted with the soothing smell of old parchment. She takes her time taking a breath before proceeding into the cluttered room. Shelves upon shelves of meticulously organized files fill the room, and now that she's looking at it, she has no idea where to start.

     The thought of starting at the beginning is overwhelming, so she reflects on what Chat told her the previous night: missing persons cases and suspicious suicides during the past decades. With a huff and a nod she starts where she can: 1990; a good median number for a decades-long crime organization.

     Marinette is there for an immeasurable amount of time, absorbed in the smell and textures of old paper. She has to thumb through the carefully chronologically sorted manila folders and pulls out every missing persons case, closed and not closed, she can get her hands on. She manages to work her way through 1 year of data before she has to pause and carefully look at the files stacked across the floor, like petals of a flower fanning out around her. She kept them separated and sorted based on month as she pulled them out, and now she has an estimated 600 files piled around her.

     She may have underestimated the work needed to be done. She quietly curses Chat before she sits down and begins looking through the files. As she thumbs through the papers, she recalls the other thing he told her: ‘none of them were missing with intention. No ransom. No notes left behind.’ She keeps that in mind and separates the files one by one based on age and ransom/notes present. She doesn't want to believe that the leader of an organized crime ring would be the type to kidnap or kill children, so she removes anyone under the age of 18. Any case that involves ransom or a note of intent are removed. The piles begin to stack in front of her, and she ends up with a stack of nearly 200 case files beside her.

     Marinette almost wants to cry. This many suspicious files in just one year. Who knows how many more she would have to go through for the following years. She sucks up the exhaustion and puts the excess files back into their respective boxes before grabbing the stack of folders on the floor and exiting the records room. She passes by a clock and has to pause and stare at the hands to make sure she was reading the time correctly: 7:10 pm. She spent nearly 4 hours down in the records room and no one had come looking for her.

     She passes by the Quartermaster again, he's asleep, and she makes her way back up the stairs and back to her desk. She barely sets the files down before her desk phone goes off. She almost doesn't pick it up, expecting it to be Chat again, but she clenches her teeth and prepares to confront him as she picks up the phone.

     "Hello?" Marinette cautiously answers.

     "Oh my god where have you been." It's Alya's voice that answers.

     "Oh thank god." Marinette sighs out in relief before realizing she states that over the phone.

     "Wait what?"

     "Don't worry about it, sorry. Just thought you were going to be someone else." Marinette quickly recovers despite her embarrassment.

     "I- Alright, I guess. Anyway, I've tried to get a hold of you for hours, where have you been?" Alya's worried, which means that Marinette was in trouble next time she saw her.

     "Busy in records, sorry. The basement doesn't really get any service."

     "Busy for 3 hours?"

     "4, actually." Marinette sits down in her chair with a groan, a hand kept on the phone and the other sitting on top of the stack of files.

     "Jeez, what did you do to warrant 4 hours being stuck in the basement?"

     "I was down there of my own volition, actually."

     "Doing what, exactly?"

     Marinette pauses, looking over at the files under her hand. She cringes before answering with the same word used by the blonde that's been jumping in and out of her peripheral all week. "Homework."

     Alya sputters over the line. "Homework? Is the department assigning you homework? Do they think this is high school? I'll call b.s. on them if you want me to."

     Marinette laughs. "No, no. This was self-assigned work, don't worry about it. But thanks for the support."

     "You know I'm ride-or-die with you, Mari. If you need dirt on someone, or even help burying a body, lemme know."

     She can't help the smile crossing her face. "Will do."

     "But, anyway," Her friend continues, "What kind of homework are you doing?"

     "I just wanted to check on something, nothing too noteworthy."

     "Alright. Well, I wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner when I called earlier. It's a little last minute now, but would you still like to drop by? It'll be done in about 15."

     "Of course. Let me just pack up real quick. Do you want me to grab dessert to go from the bakery?"

     "Do you really have to ask?" Alya deadpans and Marinette laughs.

     "I guess not. I'll see you at your place in 20 then?"

     "Yeah, I'll leave the door unlocked."

     With a farewell Marinette hangs up and stands, shoving the files into her bag and grabbing her coat and keys. The spring chill of the evening penetrates her coat, so she tucks it closer around her as she straddles her Vespa and takes off. The cobblestone rattles her bones, but she's so used to it she doesn't notice it too much. She pulls up to her parents bakery and parks the Vespa just outside the bakery doors. The bakery is dark, but the second story light is on telling her that her parents are home. She takes out the spare bakery key and steps inside, the doorbell signaling her arrival.

     "Marinette?" Her mother calls out from upstairs.

     "Yes, maman."

 

* * *

 

   4 hours for a modeling session outside isn't unreasonable, but it's still a significant amount of time to be sitting still while it's a relatively chilly spring day. At least the items in question were coats and jeans, so it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. The only thing that would have made it better would have been the absence of the clingy model he was paired with. She was a sweet girl, but found any chance she could to try and get closer to him both in and out of shots and changing. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, and gorgeous for sure, but had an air and personality about her that made her uninteresting.

     He much preferred the fire of the midnight-haired detective than of the brunette model. His princess was stubborn for sure, but that's what made her irresistible.

     The photographer decided last minute that it would be a perfect day to shoot outside rather than inside as they have been the past few months, and the park they set up at was in full bloom. Adrien had no qualms with that in the least, preferring the fresh air to the hot stifled air of a studio. He couldn't have been happier to enjoy the outside for once even if he was still technically working, and not just as Chat Noir.

     After the shoot and avoiding the brunette to make his escape, he meanders down the street, following the gated fence surrounding the park. His car is parked just at the end of the block, but he doesn't want to leave right away. Instead, he leans back on the black iron fence and pulls out his personal cell. He scrolls through the list of recent callers noncommittedly until Plagg's name pops up. He already talked to his mentor the other day, but he had yet to check in with him regarding the previous evening with Marinette. He presses Plagg's name and waits. Three rings pass before he answers.

     "I guess she didn't arrest you last night after all." Plagg doesn't sound surprised.

     "This cat indeed got away unscathed." Adrien smiles smugly. He can practically hear Plagg pinch his nose.

     "I'm surprised she didn't give you an ass kicking. You need a good ass kicking from her and not just me."

     "Don't worry about that, she was ready to throw down for sure. She actually drew blood, but granted I was practically asking for it so I don't blame her."

     "Do I want to know? No, wait, don't answer that, I don't want to know." Plagg sighs through the phone. "Why do you even bother calling me outside of wanting to get your ass kicked or your ass bailed out of jail?"

     "Maybe because I just want to hear your soothing voice or words of wisdom?" Adrien smiles knowing the face of disgust Plagg must have on his face.

     "Oh, I'm sure I have the most melodious voice you've ever heard of." Plagg replies with sarcasm dripping from his almost nasally voice.

     "It's angelic." Adrien continues to friendly tease his mentor while he snorts.

     "I'm sure my 'fountain of wisdom' is mind blowing as well. 'You're being an idiot' is still my best quote yet, and still applies after how many years?"

     "I lost count honestly." Adrien smiles and leans forward so his hair covers his eyes from passerby's, his eyes trained on the ground absently.

     "Yeah, me too. You've been a pain in my butt for too long if you ask me."

     "And I'll continue to be a pain in your butt for years to come."

     Plagg chuckles at Adrien's comment. "I'll put up with you until you can beat me in a race, which may I remind you, you still have yet to do."

     "It's just a matter of time old man."

     "I'm barely 10 years older than you, brat."

     "How bout we put it to a test then? Wednesday at 8pm?"

     "You're on, kid." As Plagg says this as an abnormal rumble and puttering of a familiar motor reaches his ears. He looks up fast enough to make the nerves in his neck strain.

     There she is, pulling up to the curb of the opposite side of the street in front of a corner bakery on her familiar silver and blue Vespa. Complete with shoulder bag and uniform. She must have just gotten off work. He can hear Plagg say something over the line, but he doesn't process the words as he watches Marinette dismount the bike and approach the door to the obviously closed bakery like a hawk.

     "I have to go Plagg, gotta grab some food real quick."

     "Food? I thought your line of work requires you not to eat."

     "Well, I think it's an exception when I work two jobs." Adrien has to defend himself while he focuses on her unlocking the door and enter the dark store with an audible jingle. 

     "That hardly counts as a job. That's more of a hobby." Plagg snorts on the other side of the line before Adrien makes a noncommittal noise and hangs up, attention solely focused on the detective as she closes the door and disappears into the back of the bakery. There's a light on in the second floor: someone else is home. But he knows this isn't her apartment, he's seen it before that first day he met her in person. He couldn't help but follow her from a distance and make sure she got home okay after having thoroughly ruffled her feathers and undoubtedly scaring her.

     To say he's curious is an understatement. He quickly crosses the street, pulling the hood of his jacket up around his head as he jogs over to the glass door. He can see enough inside to see the dimly lit stairwell in the back of the bakery, where Marinette must have disappeared to. He looks at the handle for a moment, debating if going in was a good idea or not, but his interest is too great to ignore. He slowly opens the door, finding it to be surprisingly unlocked. There's a bell just above the door which he heard when Marinette entered just moments before, so he reaches up and silences it with his hand before he continues to open the door. It's a bakery that looks to be newly refurbished: a glossy floor and a new-furniture smell still lingers underneath the scent of bread and sugar. He can hear voices floating down from the second floor.

     He can hear his detective's voice, along with another warm voice of a woman and the alto of a man. They're chatting amicably, but the exact words are hard to make out. While they chat above him, he takes a moment to look around. Empty pastry cases fill the walls, a display case separates most of the staff area from the main floor with the exception of a small amount of counter space for the register and the way behind the counter and into the kitchen. The smell of yeast and vanilla are the strongest in the air, but other underlying smells he can distinctly recognize are almond and lemon. He takes a deep breath in before he peeks into the kitchen behind the counter. It's clean and neat, but hints of flour still dust the floor and clinical tables like snow. The lingering heat of the ovens makes the kitchen feel warmer than it looks.

     He tenses when he hears laughter, and decides to take his leave sooner rather than later lest he gets caught snooping around when he clearly shouldn't be.

     He leaves as quietly as he came, but not before catching the parting words of a daughter to her parents.

 

* * *

 

     "Bye maman, bye papa. Thanks again for the left over pastries!" Marinette waves to her parents in the doorway as she starts down the stairs.

     "Come by more often, sweetie. We miss having you around." Her mother calls after her as she's disappearing into the darkness of the main floor.

     "I'll do my best, work is keeping me on my toes though." Marinette juggles the two boxes of sweets in her arms along with her keys.

     "You'll catch that crook soon! Give him a taste of what a Dupain-Cheng is made of!" Her father's encouraging words make her laugh in the dark of the kitchen. She calls back an agreement with a disparaging note to herself: _oh, if only you knew_.

     She leaves the way she came, locking the bakery door back up again behind her before switching the keys with two fingers and mounting her Vespa. She has to carefully balance the pastry boxes between her legs while she pulls away from the curb, blissfully unaware of the charmed smile following her from the driver's seat of a dark Maserati parked just up the street.


	5. Prying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces to the puzzle are there, but without hints, it'll take a while to figure out what the full picture is.

     Marinette wakes up at her kitchen table, neck stiff and a dried line of drool across her cheek. Manila folders, lightly yellowed paper, and washed-out, undersaturated photographs of crime scenes are scattered around her, covering the table and the floor. Her head protests with a sharp pain, reminding her of the wine she may or may not have had too much of the previous night after arriving home at 845.

     She groggily stands, stretching only after the world around her comes back into view and the ground stops threatening to come out from under her.

     The trip to the coffee machine is a short one relatively speaking, but the time to actually brew a cup feels like an eternity. While it brews, she makes a trip to the bathroom to grab the aspirin she keeps tucked away in her drawer for such mornings. She barely walks through the bathroom door when she cringes at the sight of herself in the mirror. Hair unkept and knotted, dark circles under her eyes, a colouration to her skin that is an obvious giveaway to the state of herself. She stares at her reflection for a moment before reaching for the brush to tackle the birds nest on her head.

     She doesn't leave the bathroom until she's freshened up and doesn’t look or smell as obviously hungover as she's feeling. The bottle of aspirin rattles comfortingly in her hand as she shuffles her way back to the coffee machine. With a cup of bitter, black coffee in her hand and waiting for the aspirin to kick in, she stares absentmindedly at the clock on her living room wall. It takes her more than a moment to be able to tell what time it is and the implications of what 820am meant.

     If there was any instantaneous cure for a hangover, it would be the dawning realization that she was late for work.

     She nearly drops her coffee as she slams it on the counter and sprints to her bedroom, stripping off her sleep shorts and baggy t-shirt as she trips and hops her way down the hall. She digs around for a new pair of everything, stumbling around the room as she multitasks dressing with getting her bag packed and digging her keys out of yesterday's jeans.

     She's surprisingly sober as she chugs the bitter coffee and sprints out the door.

     She's nearly been run over twice before she pulls up to the precinct. Bursting through the doors and sprinting down the hall she reaches her desk the moment the clock hits 835. A new record for getting to work by a large margin, but still late. She signs into the computer and collapses at her desk, her head hitting the table hard enough to hear ringing. If she could get away with sleeping at her desk, now would be the time, but she's too busy thinking about the files that she poured over last night. She only managed to get through half of them before she passed out at the table, but she was starting to see the patterns in the files she found particularly suspicious.

     Granted, there were only 12 of them so far that she deemed odd, but there was still a pattern nonetheless. The victims had all last been seen several days before being found either dead in their homes or around the city. No sign of a struggle, no evidence of foul play. All written off as either suicides or accidents. One of the things that struck her as strange though was the timing between last being seen and being found again. She quickly picked up on the pattern, but wouldn't have immediately noticed unless looking at the files in front of her all at once. The photos are what she finds most strange: she knew about the stages of decomp (however unsettling a subject) before becoming a detective, but some key stage signs seemed… off. Granted, the photos were desaturated and over 20 years old. She would have to confirm with more recent photos.

     Marinette shifts when she hears footsteps approaching. She turns her head expecting Tikki coming to ask her about the note she left the previous day, but is surprised by a different redhead, sketchbook missing and replaced instead by two coffee mugs. He gives her a shy smile, "You look like you could need it."

     She gratefully accepts the offered mug with a thanks and notes the familiar brand tag of her preferred tea at the precinct. There's no cream, but she likes it anyway without it. "Do I really look that bad?" She asks as she takes a sip, humming as the warm liquid runs down her throat and warms her body.

     "I don't know if you want an honest answer." Nathanael gives her a sympathetic smile as he drinks from his own mug. "Late night?"

     She sighs, "You could say that. I had a date with a couple of glasses of wine, which probably isn’t the greatest idea in the world at 9 at night.”

     Nathanael laughs. “I’ve been there before.” He takes another sip of his drink before giving her a worried look. “Is there something bugging you?”

     Marinette looks up at him while trying to keep her poker face despite her surprise. “Not really, why?” She lies. She doesn't want to involve Nathanael in something she wasn't completely sure about.

     Nathanael drops his eyes to his mug. “You seem, I don’t know, distant I guess? You have this faraway look in your eye, like you're trying to figure something out." He shrugs and looks back up at her with a small smile. "But it may just be the lingering wine."

     She gives him a nod and a smile. "Yeah, the aspirin hasn't quite kicked in yet." Another lie.

     He looks concerned. "If it doesn't help soon, let me know. I can grab some more for you if you need it."

     "I'll let you know, thanks." She takes another sip of her tea when Kim calls for Nathanael. With a quick acknowledgement, Nathanael turns back to Marinette. "I hope you feel better soon." With a word of gratitude, Marinette watches Nathanael leave, meeting up with a smug-faced Kim shooting her a look. She meets his teasing glance with her best 'what-do-you-want' stare.

     Both men leave after a moment, undoubtedly heading towards the interview rooms.

     Marinette takes this moment of silence to close her eyes and enjoy the sensation of the heat from the tea on her hands and face. Her skin warms comfortably. It's just enough for her to fall asleep at her desk. She takes another sip when her phone rings.

     Setting down her mug she pulls out a notepad and pen before picking up the phone.

     "Detective Dupain-Cheng's desk." She responds automatically.

     "Beautiful morning isn't it, Miss Detective?"

     She hangs up immediately. Several seconds pass where she has to convince herself that her sudden migraine is the remnants of a lingering hangover and not from the blonde who just called her, and then the phone is ringing again. Glaring at the phone she debates whether or not to answer it. She concedes after two rings.

     "You didn't even give me a chance to say why I was calling." He laughs through the line. It's definitely him that's causing her headache.

     "Why are you calling, then?" She flips the pen between her fingers on one hand in an attempt to divert her irritation.

     "I wanted to know if you've discovered anything yet regarding your homework."

     "Impatient, are you?"

     "The curiosity truly is killing me, you know."

     "I've barely gotten through one year of records, what should I have found?"

     There's a pause where she knows he would be shrugging. In that pause she can hear ambient sounds. He must be in a public area, there's a symphony of background noise. "You're the detective, you tell me."

     She pauses to think about how she should answer. Should she tell him or not? He was the one who warned her of the possibility of something going on in the shadows of the city and the involvement in cases long past in the first place, but how would he know of such a thing unless he was involved somehow? Was he directly involved with it, and was this all a trap?

     But something told her even he had no idea what it was she was looking for. She remembered the look on his face when he warned her. It was so serious and fearful. She had never seen that look on someone before.

     "The time passed between disappearance date and time the body was found, at least for the cases they are found. I can't quite be sure based on the old photographs, but it also looks like the body's state of decay is off somehow, I can't quite tell exactly what though. The coroner doesn't note anything of interest in their examinations, but something doesn't look quite right between the body decay stage and the time passed." She stops spinning the pen in her hand when it's his turn for silence. She wonders if perhaps he left the phone when she can hear him swallow and a clack. Was he drinking something?

     "What are the times that they disappear?"

     "All times of the day, but more likely than not in the evening."

     He pauses again. She counts her heartbeats until he breaks the silence. "I'll do some digging on my own and let you know what I turn up."

     She quirks her eyebrow in confusion. Not once has she ever heard of a still-wanted criminal offering their services to a cop unless they were negotiated with. To say she's surprised is an understatement, but to say she's pleasantly surprised is overstating it. She doesn't quite know what to say in response until she hears him swallow again, and the following clack of ceramic on ceramic.

     "What are you drinking?" The question comes out thoughtlessly.

     "Chai." He answers her query matter-of-factly without hesitation.

     "Where?"

     "If I were to tell you, would you come running after me?" She can practically hear the grin on his face.

     "I don't know. Depends on how quickly I can get there, unless you'd wait for me."

     "Tempting." He hums thoughtfully. "Tell you what, if you can guess where I am on your first try, I might just stick around long enough. I'll give you a hint if you want it." She doesn't answer, opting for silence rather than outright agreeing with him. He must understand the connotation of her silence. "Alright, I'll take that as a yes." He takes another sip just to be aggravating. She waits impatiently for him to swallow. He coughs and she's never wanted to arrest someone as desperately in that moment, "Alright, here's your hint: Are your parents bakers? Cause you've got a nice pair of buns."

     She slams the phone down onto the receiver harder than she should have. She has to take a moment to collect herself before she picks up the phone again. There's a crack on the earpiece, but she doesn’t care much to be concerned about it as she dials the bakery's number. She pleads for the phone to pick up. It does after a few rings. She doesn't give her mother a moment to answer before Marinette interrupts. "Maman, is there a blonde man in the bakery right now?"

     "Marinette? Um, give me a second, sweetie." Marinette is vibrating with the urge to sprint out of the department and to the bakery herself, adrenaline is coursing through her veins. "I don't see any blonde men, no."

     "How about earlier this morning. Did you serve anyone blonde or over 6 feet?" Marinette waits patiently while her mother pauses to think.

     "I served one blonde man almost an hour ago."

     Marinette can feel her blood pressure spike. "What did he look like? Do you remember?"

     Her mother's tone is clearly alarmed. "He had short blonde hair, about your height, maybe an inch or two taller." Marinette collapses in her chair in relief. He hadn't been at the bakery after all. But how could he have known? "Why, is something wrong? Are you okay?"

     "Yeah, maman, I'm okay. Just wondering, nothing to be worried about."

     "Alright, well, be safe sweetie. Have a good day at work."

     "Yeah, thanks mom. Love you." She hangs up the phone much more gently, although her irritation is burning underneath her skin.

     That bastard.

 

* * *

 

   Adrien laughs when he hears the crash of the phone down on the receiver, effectively cutting him off. He probably just signed a waiver for the security of his wellbeing, because once his princess got a hold of him he was sure she would skin him for that stunt he just pulled. But he couldn't resist. He had new information about her that he could utilize to his full advantage to tease her, and by god he would milk it for as long as he could. He has to keep things interesting if he wants her to keep chasing him, but even before this point he was sure she would cross continents to personally chase him down.

     Adrien pockets his burn phone and finishes the chai in his cup before he stands and delivers the cup back to the counter of the café he stopped in on his way to work that morning. It's not her parent's bakery, but damn him if he couldn't pull a prank on Detective Marinette to keep her on her toes. He might have inadvertently given her a heart attack, but other than that it was completely harmless.

     He leaves the café with a thanks, and slips back into his car. The black car purrs to life and he pulls away from the curb and effortlessly into the traffic. With a smile he thinks about how he should pay a visit to the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie after work that day.

 

* * *

 

     Marinette arrives back at the precinct half an hour before her lunch break after delivering the examined jewelry items back to their respective owners. After Chat called her, she decided to take a break away from the department to cool down and allow the aspirin more time to work its magic on her headache, only taking the individually bagged items to give her an excuse to escape. At least her time away was productive. She could check one more thing off her list of things she needed to do, the next thing being looking down in records for more files to take home.

     She's ascending the stairs to the department building when she hears a commotion from inside. A loud crash and yelling alarm her, and she sprints the rest of the way in.

     There's a man on the floor, restrained by two officers while four others including the receptionist stand by. More are streaming into the lobby after hearing the commotion. The restrained man is yelling incoherently, eyes wide and pupils dilated so much so that she can't even see the color of his irises, drool dripping down his chin onto the linoleum. He's thrashing on the floor, but Kim and Alix both have him effectively pinned with their body weight.

     She watches, alarmed, as they both work to pick up the man by his arms and carry him off in the direction of the holding cells.

     Marinette notices Max staring after them with a calculating look on his face on the other side of the room. She rushes over to him before he can leave. "Max, do you know what happened?"

     He looks over at her while adjusting his glasses. "My guess is another drug user. 4th one since yesterday. I'm surprised you didn't know, we had something like this happen yesterday too."

     Yesterday? She was processing the jewelry for evidence and downstairs in records, it's no wonder she didn't hear anything. "I was busy with the Chat Noir case, I had no idea this happened."

     "You do tend to get absorbed in that case, I don't blame you for not noticing. Granted, it's only been two days since we started getting this kind of thing." Max gestures to the sound of yelling with a nod of his head. He waves her forward as he starts towards holding. She manages to keep up with his quick pace.

     "What kind of thing?" She keeps her eyes forward to the direction of the tortured sound ringing through the hall.

     "I don't know. The first drug user that came in yesterday hasn't come out of whatever high he's on. He's awake and medically fine besides the drug in his system, but he isn't lucid yet." They come into holding, Alix and Kim are just closing the cell door for the screaming man. Marinette can only attempt to focus on anything but the sounds of what seems like a dying animal. "This man looks to be far worse off than any of the others we have here in holding for the moment." Max comments about the man in question, a single finger raised to his left ear to block out the distressing sound. He proceeds past the cell and closer towards the back of the room. Marinette follows him. They stop in front of the second to last cell. Sitting straight legged on the floor and staring at the opposite wall is a young man. His eyes are glazed over, mouth hanging ajar. A tray of food is sitting beside him, completely untouched. If it wasn't for his sudden sharp inhale, she would have assumed him dead.

     "And he came in yesterday, you said?" Marinette asks Max, who is standing with his arms crossed with an inquisitive look on his face.

     "Affirmative. Around 330. The woman to your left arrived about an hour afterwards. She was found not far from where he was reported. More likely than not a part of the same drug house." He nods to the cell beside her. A younger woman is laying on her side on the floor, the same glazed over look on her face as the young man in front of her. "You're a detective, do you notice anything about them from first glance?"

     Marinette motions for the door, and Max motions for Kim to open it. She slips inside cautiously, tiptoeing around the dazed man. She waves a hand in front of his face, but there's no response from him. She takes that as an okay to move closer. She takes his arm and studies it, noting the absence of pinprick scarring, and looking at his open mouth notices unyellowed teeth. "I don't work in narcotics, but I can tell he's not a hard drug user, or hasn't been for long at the least. He doesn't have needle scarring and his teeth haven't yellowed." She pulls out her phone and angles the flashlight up towards his eyes rather than directly in them. "There's pupil response, however minor." She reaches for his wrist, fingers resting upon his pulse. His heart rate is quick despite his lack of movement. She raises her hand to his forehead and it's warm. "Fast heart rate, high body temperature. These are all signs of LSD, how long has he been like this?" She turns to Max and he's nodding.

     "Almost 21 hours. That's just the thing. Usually, LSD wears off after 12, but this is almost double the length. We have no idea what exactly they took because no one is cognizant yet. Over at 9th they've had a woman for nearly 30 hours after coming in with the same symptoms. She was conscious after 23 hours, but passed out asleep moments after gaining awareness. They had an emergency medical team look at her, but other than dehydration and a few cavities she's at no risk." Marinette exits the cell and the door closes, the lock clicking into place. "We can't get blood samples from them until they give verbal, conscious consent. Narcotics will soon begin close monitoring for the next few hours until the drug wears off, and then a medical team will be on standby to perform a check and administer fluids. As an analyst this is truly fascinating, although I do have to step aside to let narcotics handle it."

     Marinette and Max meander their way back to the lobby, passing the now-silent man lying flat on the cot. They part ways in mutual silence, and Marinette is left to ponder the developing situation. How come she hadn't heard about the situation? Perhaps she is putting too much attention on Noir and not enough on what else is happening. Granted, he has been effectively keeping her attention on him by practically dangling himself in front of her time and time again. However, even though she is curious about the apparent new drugs, she isn't on the narcotics team. She’s a criminal detective. She has to stand aside and let the professionals handle their work, like how she should handle hers.

 

* * *

 

     "How's the case going with a certain cat? Any updates today after yesterday's fiasco?" Alya asks her from across the table they share at the bakery, notepad open and awaiting information. Her friend had shown up at the department and practically dragged her out to lunch at noon. Marinette promised that she would leave willingly if she was back before 1240. Alya reluctantly agreed. Together they piled into the reporter's car and, much to Marinette's horror, sped to the bakery. Alya defends herself after Marinette's scolding that it was in an effort to spend more time chatting over lunch with her best friend rather than during travel time.

     Marinette cuts a piece of quiche with the side of her fork absentmindedly. She could trust Alya with anything, but the phone call this morning didn't feel like the kind to tell her friend. It was too personal. Not that she didn't trust her personal stuff with her best friend, but this kind of thing was meant for her knowledge only. For the moment. And as far as it goes, Alya knew as much as the chief: it was an anonymous tip that called in the bag and not Noir himself. “Not really. I was practically a glorified delivery-woman this morning. I went to go return the jewelry that was recovered to their respective owners."

     "Aren't the owners usually the ones to come and claim their items?"

     "Well…" Marinette spears the cut piece. "I also wanted to get some fresh air. Had a bit of a hangover this morning, I needed to get out of the stuffy building to ease some of the headache."

     Alya leans back in her chair, arms crossing. "When you have wine late at night it's usually either because of a reason or you have some time to yourself for once. Based on what you told me it's definitely not because you have free time. What's got you so stressed?"

     Marinette shakes her head before laying it down on the table. A comforting hand is placed momentarily on her shoulder. It's not the right time to tell Alya about the past cases. If this thing is enough to worry Chat, someone already on the bad side of the law, then she doesn't want anyone else involved if she could help it. She sighs though, shifting her head to lay her other cheek on the cool tabletop. "What isn't stressing me out is the question. I hate this case, Alya. There's already so much going on without him dancing circles around me. I just want to punch him in his dumb, pretty face." Marinette combs a hand through her hair in frustration.

     Alya sputters, her coffee dribbling down her chin before wiping the back of her hand across her skin to catch the dark liquid. "I'm sorry what did you say?" It was Alya's disbelieving, open-jawed stare that drives Marinette to replay her previous statement in her head. Realization hits her, and with a flush she tries to play dumb.

     "That I want to punch him?"

     "No. You said he had a pretty face. So you've actually met him? How come you haven't told me!" Alya sets her coffee down before it can drop from her hands. Marinette quickly motions for her to keep her voice down in the bakery. The curious eyes of strangers look back to their own things after Marinette challengingly meets their invasive gazes.

     "Alya, I haven't exactly officially reported that part yet." Marinette hides her face from the crowd around them as she whispers this to her friend. Alya, the ever-respecting friend before diligent reporter, closes her notebook and places both it and her pen into her bag wordlessly before giving Marinette a 'spill it or I make your life hell' look.

     "He… 'introduced' himself to me one evening, while I was walking home." Marinette refuses to tell her about the meeting on the roof, opting for describing the first time he pulled her aside at the park.

     "So, you actually saw him in the flesh, up close. The guy you've been trying to catch for months now." Alya pauses, leaning in closer to the table. "Why didn't you catch him? Kick his ass and cuff him and do the whole cop thing you do? Why haven't you reported this yet?"

     "He wanted to be civil, and so we were civil. He introduced himself and unwittingly gave me more information about what he looks and sounds like, more information than we've had in the year this case has been open. He's more annoying than I expected him to be, that's for sure." She conveniently leaves off the fact that he slipped his calling card into her purse, and that the card now rests on the floor in the far corner of her living room where she tossed it like it was an offensive gesture. Which it is. Marinette looks away at the wall and frowns while she continues. "And I would have reported it, if it wasn't for the fact that the chief basically said he had put his trust in me regarding this case while at the same time pointing out the fact that I'm the 'rookie' detective." It was over a week ago, but that conversation is still fresh in her mind. "I couldn't look him in the eye and admit that Chat had been right in front of me and I didn't do anything." Marinette returns her head to the tabletop. "I would love to officially report this -but call me selfish- if it weren't for the fact that it will definitely get me fired."

     A reassuring hand is placed on Marinette's shoulder. "Hey, hey. Technically you were off duty, right? You don’t have any obligation to do work when you're out of uniform. Think of it like, running into your ex and him rubbing in the fact that he's in a relationship again while you're still single, and his new girlfriend is a model or something, and he leaves you sitting on the park bench he found you on and you're wearing a three-day old t-shirt and a week old bra. You wouldn't report something like that no matter how big a dick he is because you aren't working, so you aren't obligated to do anything."

     "That's very specific Alya, do you need to talk?" Marinette smiles while her cheek is pressed to the table, eyes focused on her friend.

     "We'll get to that later. My love life is not the topic of question right now." Alya waves her hand dismissively while she takes her cup again. "The point is, I don't think you need to report it if you weren't on duty." Marinette doesn't comment on how that really isn't how this kind of thing works, but appreciates that way of thinking regardless. "What you do and who you talk to during your private life is private. Besides, all the missing jewelry was given back. Maybe this is a sign that he's realized he's no match for you, or you scare him too much for him to keep stealing. You should get brownie points for that or something." She takes a sip to end her point.

     Pushing herself up off the table she clasps her hands over the warm cup in front of her once again while giving her best friend a smile. "Thanks Alya."

     They fall into a comfortable silence, each taking this time to work on their drinks. Alya sets her empty cup down finally, folding her hands under her chin with a teasing look in her eyes. "So, a question: is he really that handsome?"

     "I- No! Alya, he is a criminal." Marinette looks between her quiche and her tea. Granted, it's mostly cream.

     "I didn't ask about him being a criminal, I asked about him being aesthetically pleasing. So tell me Marinette," Alya quirks an eyebrow and grins a lopsided grin that reminds her too much of Chat's smile from the other evening. "Was he aesthetically pleasing?"

     Marinette pauses, eyes still fixated on the cup in front of her. She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but if she didn't then there was no stopping Alya from grilling her about him until she finally broke. And knowing Alya, she would go until there was nothing left of Marinette but dust. She sighs, giving in to her friend's much stronger will. "Yeah, he's… nice to look at. From what you see of him at least." She mutters out mostly to her tea than her friend.

     "Nice as in 'yeah okay not bad I'd tap that' or nice as in 'I would encourage him to handcuff me with my own handcuffs, preferably against a wall'." Alya, in a demonstration, holds out both hands to a disbelieving, slack-jawed, tomato-faced Marinette. Alya would die if she knew that already (partially) happened.

     "I-I don't know, I didn't really keep 'how attractive is he' in mind when I was talking to him. He's not bad, I guess." She spares a glance up at her friend, and before Marinette can say anything else Alya's hands fly up.

     "That's all you're going to say? There's gotta be more than that. You can't leave me hanging like this! You have to give me details, girl!"

     "Alya, you've read the details in his case file before-"

     "I need first-hand details, Marinette!" Her hands gesture wildly to the person in question, who holds her hands out defensively in a futile attempt to calm her friend.

     "Okay, okay, now shush. Alright, I'll tell you." Alya quiets immediately, hands folded in perfect attention underneath her chin. Marinette quickly looks around in caution before leaning in closer to her friend. "He's dramatic, that's for sure. Playing up the 'gentleman thief' trope like his life depends on it. He certainly takes the term 'cat burglar' too seriously." She receives an intrigued hum from Alya. "Messy blonde hair, glowing green lenses on his mask. Absurdly tall. I want to punch him in his stupid perfect teeth just so that there's something not so perfect about him. His sense of fashion is appalling. Who wears clothing that tight? It's impractical looking at it from any standpoint-" She rambles thoughtlessly until she's interrupted.

     "Tight clothing?" Alya's eyebrow quirks up. "How tight are we talking?"

     Marinette debates downplaying it for a second, but figures that Alya would get a kick out of the truth. "Tight enough to know that he could bench press me, that’s for sure." And manage to hold on to me despite me squirming like my career depends on it, which it does.

     "Damn." Alya whispers this more to herself than anything as Marinette continues.

     "He wears too much leather. I don't see how he doesn't overheat wearing that much." Marinette picks up her cup and takes a sip while watching her friend bite her lower lip.

     Alya holds her fingers up to her lips as she replies. "He sounds like he'd be into BDSM or some kinky roleplay. Maybe you should invite him to your place sometime next time you see him. Which you definitely will, I'm calling it now. You could do with a good 5 hours of stress relief to cope with what you have on your metaphorical plate."

     Marinette sputters and has to balance trying not to choke on her drink or spray tea out of her nose. A few coughs and a flushed face later she hisses to her giggling friend. "Alya, I'm not even going to entertain that idea."

     Alya hums doubtingly. A foot to the shin causes Alya to startle, but her mischievous smile doesn't drop. "Just saying. You would be doing yourself a favour jumping that bad boy's bones to let loose almost four months of pent up tension."

     "You're awful, remind me why I hang out with you again?"

     "Because I make your exciting and stressful life chasing bad guys tolerable. And you just now realized I'm awful? You're supposed to be the detective. You're slipping."

     "Don't push it Alya, don't forget that I'm still your inside source for new information regarding this 'bad boy'."

     Alya hums in agreement. "Touché."

     "Now, back to the matter of me wanting to give him a blackeye…"

     "Mari, don’t give the cat a black eye."

     Marinette shrugs while taking a sip of her tea. "He'll manage. You wouldn't even be able to see it underneath that stupid mask of his." She finishes the rest of her tea before she looks back up at her friend. "Hey, um, you're a reporter. Have you noticed or heard of anything strange?"

     Alya gives her a curious look while taking a bite out of a croissant. "Strange? Strange like what?" She mumbles around the pastry in her mouth.

     Marinette plays with her abandoned quiche. "I don't know." She risks a glance to her friend. "Rumors? New drugs? The answer to the reason why a cat burglar is trying to impress me as my eccentric criminologist friend is trying to suggest?"

     Alya smiles, but shakes her head despairingly. "Unfortunately no to all of your questions, Marinette. Why, is something going on?"

     Marinette waves back nonchalantly. "No, just making sure nothing else dire is happening while I'm focusing on Chat's case." Marinette is relieved that Alya doesn't seem to know anything about what's happening. If Marinette could have it her way, Alya wouldn't ever have to know about it, but the reporter would never let that happen. She's a precocious person when it comes to the 'next big scoop'.

     Marinette isn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Based on Alya's expression, she settles on the latter.

     "I know you're lying to me, Mari, but I can take a hint when it's a topic that shouldn't see the light of day just yet." Alya stuffs another bite of her pastry into her mouth, eying her friend suspiciously. Marinette gives her a silent blessing for being respectful, but her previous answer therein lies Marinette's concern.

     This was just the beginning of something.

 

* * *

 

     Adrien is in the middle of a shoot when he sees him, the fluttering of the long end of his mentor's coat is the only cue to alert Adrien of his presence. Plagg is sitting on the steel beam rafters of the massive studio, his dark outfit and coal hair melding almost seamlessly into the shadows where the lights can't reach. Even from Adrien's perch upon his stool in the far end of the room, he can see his mentor's self-satisfied grin once he realizes he's found. Adrien wishes he could make an obscene gesture, but the camera is on him and so he must act as the model he is.

     The eyes on him from the crew or other models or the camera don't unnerve him, but for the first time he feels the weight of Plagg's eyes and is nervous about it. If Plagg was here, then it was because of something bigger than the either of them.

     The shoot takes longer than he hopes, mostly because he's distracted by Plagg's either stone cold or smug expressions. "You seem to be out of it today, Adrien. Luckily we don't have another shoot for a week after today." His photographer comments as Adrien shucks off his outer button up, noting that Plagg had disappeared. Adrien thanks him for his time and apologizes before hightailing it out of the studio. His changing room door is ajar. He slips inside and shuts the door behind him quickly, Plagg stiff in his dressing chair.

     "Something happened." Adrien doesn't question more than state this. Plagg tenses.

     "There's something happening tonight, that's all I was able to find out. Hawkmoth's decided to make a move, but what or who he's after I have no idea." Plagg shakes his head as he looks at the floor, normally bright eyes are dull and narrowed thoughtfully. Adrien takes this chance to really look at his mentor. The normally roguish and scruffy look of his mentor is now messy and unkept. The dark circles under his eyes suggests he was up late into the night searching for answers. Adrien wonders if he even slept at all.

     "Alright, so what do we do?" Adrien hops up onto the counter, folding his hands together.

     "I don't know what we can do, to be completely honest." Plagg adjusts to lean his head against a propped hand. "It's not like we can go against this guy, we'd be killed. He doesn't take too kindly to people looking too closely at him or his dealings."

     Adrien worries about his detective. He told her that she should look into the string of mysterious deaths and disappearances to better understand that there's something much bigger happening in this city, but also warned her not to look into it. If she decided to not listen to him and try to get involved, she would just become another victim. Another case that dead ends into pure circumstance. Adrien's blood turns to ice at the thought. Maybe he shouldn't have told her after all.

     "You have this look on your face like you did something incredibly stupid." Plagg interrupts his panicked worst-case scenarios. Adrien risks a glance at his mentor and finds a questioning glare, daring him to say what was on his mind. Adrien clenches his jaw before answering the unasked question.

     "I told her about his involvement in missing persons cases, and what you told me about his activity recently." He's not looking at Plagg, but he can hear the deep, disappointed exhale.

     "Damnit, Adrien. If she gets involved or goes looking for trouble, trouble will kill her." Plagg audibly sags into the chair.

     "So what should I do?" Adrien looks up at his mentor desperately, the guilt with himself putting Marinette into this situation weighs heavily on him as Plagg watches him, expression unreadable. He's silent for a moment before he sighs.

     "The only thing you can do now is protect her. Move her attention away from the breadcrumbs, and then disappear and leave her life."

     Adrien reacts incredulously. "Leave? How can I protect her if I'm not there?"

     "Trust me. The further you are away from her, the safer she is." Plagg's expression is both stoic and pained. The mood and the mysterious background of his mentor clicks together in his mind.

     "This happened before, hasn't it?" Adrien questions. He doesn't need to clarify for Plagg to know exactly what he was asking. Plagg nods solemnly.

     "Yes. I got involved with something I shouldn't have. As a result of it, someone I cared about was threatened, and the worst part is that she had no idea. To protect her, I had to disappear from her life altogether. The result of my action is that she is still alive and well, and that's all I can ask for." Plagg stands from the chair and passes Adrien, pausing only once reaching the door. "If you truly care about her, you would walk away." Plagg leaves the room, leaving Adrien in a harrowing silence.


End file.
